


Broken Dreams

by Draco_Rattus



Category: Quiz Show (Japan TV)
Genre: Adult Themes, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex in a Car, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draco_Rattus/pseuds/Draco_Rattus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MC Kamiyama cannot even remember his own name, let alone his past; he spends his days inbetween filming episodes of The Quiz Show locked in a barren cell by a man he knows only as Honma, a man who has promised to help him regain his memories in exchange for his obedience, both on the studio floor... and in his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 18th April, 2009 - Before The Show

It's the sound of the cell door opening which suddenly shakes Kamiyama from his fugue state. He is sitting beside the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly about his legs, his eyes staring into memories which he cannot quite see; the jarring of the door opening before him causes him to look up slowly, the appearance of the man he only knows as Honma-san seeming to bring him back to the present. 

And who else would it be but Honma? For as long as he can remember – and how long _has_ it been now, anyway? One year? Two? - Honma is the only person who has ever come to see him, apart from the men and women who bring him food, water, and changes of clothes. Honma is the only person who ever speaks to him, the only one who listens. In all the time he has been locked away down here, Honma has allowed him only the bare minimum of information, of entertainment; he does not have a television, he is not allowed newspapers or a radio, and books are a rare treat given as a reward for what Honma sees as good behaviour. Honma is the only one whose presence breaks up the interminable days of isolation, and despite the fact that the man is often cruel and distant, Kamiyama cannot help but look forward to his visits since they are the only things which break up the monotony of his existence, and make him feel human again. 

“Kamiyama.” Honma steps inside the cell and closes the door behind him. “It's almost time.”

“Honma-san...?” Kamiyama continues to stare up at him, a frown on his face. He knows there is something important happening soon, but without anything with which to properly measure time, the days down here quickly roll into one. 

“Don't tell me you've forgotten?” A cruel smile twitches at the corner of Honma's lips, the question itself amusing him. “We finally go live on air today, Kamiyama. All those weeks of preparation, all the dress rehearsals, all the research... today, it all comes together. Today, it begins.”

“The Quiz Show...”

“Exactly.” Honma moves closer and reaches out to ruffle Kamiyama's hair, as if he were a dog who had performed a pleasing trick. This is what he's been training Kamiyama for, for so long; over the past two years he has taught Kamiyama how to act as an MC, working with him on pre-recorded shows and small studio broadcasts, and he has been very pleased with the results so far. Tonight, however... “The Quiz Show. It's time for MC Kamiyama to make his live debut.”

He laughs softly to himself and then crouches down beside Kamiyama, cocking his head to one side to regard the other man with interest; he seems to be studying him even more so than normal, his eyes burning with an intensity which even Kamiyama can see. Kamiyama would back away from Honma if he could because that look scares him, but he's already pressed up against the bed and it's not like there's anywhere else he can go.

“Do you remember what you have to do?”

“Just ask the questions, like I have been doing already...” Kamiyama nods, glancing down at the floor and biting his lip as he focuses hard on remembering the instructions which Honma has given him. He wants to please the other man, to make him proud and show him that he can do exactly what has been asked of him; he knows that if he fails, Honma will punish him by refusing to feed him for a day or perhaps even refuse to visit him for a week, keeping him in complete isolation until he has learned his lesson. That's always the worst punishment of all; even though he knows, he _knows,_ that the man's treatment is cruel, his mere presence is preferable to the fear of being alone. “I need to ask the questions... the ones which you gave me...”

“That's right,” Honma smiles, and he leans over to squeeze encouragingly at Kamiyama's shoulder, causing the other man to whimper softly as he does so. It's not just Honma's presence which brings Kamiyama relief; he's the only person who ever gives him physical contact, the only one who touches him and allows him to feel human warmth. That touching has never yet gone beyond a hug, but it's the only affection Kamiyama can remember in his small, cold world. “You ask the questions which are on the podium, and perhaps they'll help you answer some questions about yourself, too. Didn't I promise you that?”

“Yes...” Kamiyama murmurs softly, glancing up to meet Honma's gaze; he swallows nervously as he does so, once more seeing that dangerous look on the man's face. “I want to remember...”

“Of course you do.” Honma smirks and touches at Kamiyama's hair again, his voice starting to take on a heavy, husky tone. In truth, the very thought of what he has planned for the Quiz Show is exciting him, as it already has done for some time now. Only he knows how this is going to play out; only he knows the truth of Kamiyama's past, and the knowledge that he has complete control over the situation sends a thrill through him which is far more than the mere anticipation of producing a television show. “And I can help you...”

In fact, Honma's feelings towards Kamiyama are entirely complex and confused. He utterly hates the man for what he did to Nitta Misaki; Kamiyama is a murderer and a coward, killing Misaki then refusing to face up to his crime and trying to commit suicide by jumping from the hospital roof. He can never forgive Kamiyama for that, and it will bring justice and closure to see Kamiyama exposed and destroyed. At the same time, however, there is always that sense of a shared history, a shared past; he can never share the memories which he made with Kamiyama and Misaki with anybody else. When it comes to Misaki, to the school days they had together, the time they spent together as teenagers, Kamiyama is all that he has. No matter how much he might try and deny it, there will always be a part of Honma Toshio which remembers Kamiyama Satoru as being his closest friend.

And Honma has not always been a cruel man. When they were younger it was always Kamiyama who made the decisions for the three of them; outgoing, confident Kamiyama with his larger-than-life personality and his constant jokes, his stubborn decisions and his carefree attitude. Honma had been the quieter one then, the one who always sulked at Kamiyama's teasing, the one who idolised Misaki and chided Kamiyama when he made fun of her. But after Kamiyama's fall from the hospital roof – after having six years to brood over Misaki's death, six years of waiting for the man who had once been his best friend to regain consciousness and answer for his crimes, and then two further years of planning to prepare the Quiz Show – Honma has become isolated and bitter, a dark and cold shadow of the boy he used to be.

“You just need to trust me, Kamiyama,” he intones, his voice a sultry purr. He can almost remember the moment when he realised he held feelings for Kamiyama which burned more strongly than the need for revenge; at some point came the revelation that he needed to utterly possess him, to own him, to humiliate and humble him physically as well as mentally. For some months now he has kept his lusts in check, not wanting to spend them in a fleeting few minutes of wasted pleasure; no, this has to mean something. This has to count, just like every episode of the Quiz Show will. And now is the time for his desire to finally be released. _“Trust_ me...”

The hand which had been stroking gently at Kamiyama's hair tightens its grip, Honma giving a moan as his fingers tangle themselves within it; he forcibly tilts Kamiyama's head back, exposing his neck, drawing a quiet whine from the other man's throat. Although he has been rough with him before, this is the first time Honma has done something so... _possessive._ Honma feels his excitement rising up within him at the idea of Kamiyama obeying his commands on the studio floor, knowing that while the contestants believe they will be the ones playing his game, it will really be _him_ playing _them..._

“Honma-san...” Kamiyama gives a soft whimper of confusion, not entirely sure what Honma is doing. “Honma...”

“Sssh, Kamiyama. It's alright.” Honma's voice is deceptively soft and smooth as he leans in more closely, his breath hot against Kamiyama's neck. “I told you to trust me...”

And then his lips are on Kamiyama's neck, kissing him, tracing their way along his skin, low moans issuing from his throat with each and every one; it's the first time either of them have ever experienced this, a kiss given and received between two people in desire, and Kamiyama is practically shocked into paralysis by the display. Honma, however, seems to easily take the lead, kissing his way up and along Kamiyama's jawline, kissing at his cheek, one arm sliding around Kamiyama to draw his body closer against him. He gives a loud, low growl as his lips continue to press against his skin, his mouth finding Kamiyama's own, engaging the other man in a gentle kiss which quickly becomes more forceful, more hungry...

“Kamiyama...” Honma breathes, finally pulling away to study the man's face; Kamiyama recognises the look in his eyes now as one of desire, of sheer need, and he knows that he is helpless to try and resist it.

“Honma-san...” Kamiyama drops his gaze like an animal submitting to a challenge, reverting to the quiet, puppet-like state which Honma has trained him into. Seeing him like this only makes Honma laugh.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he smirks, pleased to see that Kamiyama is already obeying him so easily. But his playing has only just begun – Honma already knew what he wanted when he arrived at the cell, and he's not going to leave until he's finished. “Not yet, anyway. But I'm going to need more from you than just a kiss...”

He slides his arms from around Kamiyama with a sigh and gets to his feet, hauling Kamiyama up with him, his mind already made up. He is going to take Kamiyama this evening, and he's going to make sure that Kamiyama likes it, no matter how brutal he might have to be. Grinning to himself, he reaches a hand down between Kamiyama's legs and touches at the bulge within the man's trousers, frowning as he realises that he isn't hard; Honma can already feel his own arousal growing, his own length hardening as he taunts and teases the other man, and in a way it's disappointing to realise that Kamiyama isn't feeling that same excitement.

“Haven't I done enough for you yet, Kamiyama?” he hisses, squeezing at him though the flimsy material, stroking him. “Haven't I treated you well? I waited so long for you... I've given you a second chance... the least you could do would be to appreciate what I'm about to do to you...”

Kamiyama just stands there, not really understanding everything which Honma is saying, although he understands well enough what is expected of him. He gives a quiet whimper and tries to focus on what would excite him, although really, it's not something he tends to think about that much; he is certainly old enough to know that his body reacts in certain ways to certain things, but desire seems a distant and unfamiliar emotion to him. His sex drive is almost as dormant as his memories.

“I'm sorry...” he whispers, looking down at his feet, not really sure what to do, how to please him. “Honma-san...”

“So ungrateful,” Honma mutters, although he's smirking as he does so, his hand sliding down now inside Kamiyama's trousers to touch at the bare flesh of his length. He closes his eyes and moans as his fingers brush across the smooth, velvety skin, stroking at him, and his smile widens as he feels Kamiyama begin to harden beneath his touch. “That's better...”

Kamiyama whimpers, almost taking a step back as the sensations threaten to overwhelm him; he has touched himself like this before on occasion, but the feeling is completely different when it's somebody else's hand taking control. It's pleasant – _more_ than pleasant – but it's another way in which Honma is displaying his dominance, and Kamiyama knows it. Although he realises that he doesn't entirely dislike it... and his body shows it.

“Better,” Honma murmurs again as Kamiyama grows long and hard, his length responding to his attentions, Honma's fingers closing about him and moving slowly up and down his firm shaft. He teases him for a few moments more, his thumb flicking over the head, before he draws back his hand and regards Kamiyama with a hungry look. “But I still want more, Kamiyama. I need more of you... and I need those trousers to be off.”

He continues to study Kamiyama as the other man meekly does as he's told, taking a hold of his loose trousers and sliding them down from his hips, exposing his length; Honma gives a low moan as the trousers drop to the floor, staring at the other man's arousal with admiration. He's seen it before, of course; they shared locker rooms in school, and he was there when Kamiyama was bathed during his long coma, but this is the first time Honma has seen Kamiyama's lower half naked since he realised he wanted to take advantage of him, and it's certainly the first time he's seen him fully-erect and waiting for him.

His trousers removed, Kamiyama just stands there mutely, blushing, wondering what Honma wants him to do next. He may be bowed and broken, but he's no idiot; he knows full well that Honma's demands are sexual and predatory, and they make him feel uncomfortable, but even so there is a part of him which wants to please Honma like this. For some reason he feels that he owes the man something, although he cannot quite identify what, and he cannot deny that he feels a rush of pleasure every time Honma-san gives him praise.

“Kamiyama....” Honma's lustful growl makes Kamiyama look up, and even as he meets Honma's gaze the other man reaches out to grab him; Kamiyama gasps, but before he can react he's being pushed down onto the bed, Honma shoving him onto his back and clambering onto the bed with him. It's not as though Kamiyama would even dare to fight back – he lacks the physical strength, for one thing – but Honma pins him down anyway, kneeling over him, a sneer on his face. “You're _mine...”_

He's done his best to keep his lust in check, but now that Kamiyama is lying half-naked before him it's all Honma can do to hold back long enough to speak; his body is trembling with need, the anticipation of his revenge mingling with his more base, physical desires, and it's with shaking hands that he reaches down to unbutton his own trousers, finally freeing his hard length. That done, he touches his fingers to Kamiyama's thighs, groaning loudly, grabbing at the other man and shifting his body so that he lies on his back, his legs apart. Then he moves to kneel between Kamiyama's legs and glares down at him, knowing that he is in complete and utter control.

“Misaki was supposed to be my first, Kamiyama... but now that she's gone...” Honma's voice is thick and heavy with lust, his expression cruel and smug. He lets the words hang, lets the implications sink in, a cold and wicked smile spreading across his face as his fingers trace their way further up Kamiyama's inner thigh. “...it's going to have to be _you.”_

“Misaki...” There is fear on Kamiyama's face now, fear at the thought of what Honma is about to do, but also fear at not being able to please the other man by recognising the name. It feels as though it should mean something to him but he can't quite grasp it, the memory disappearing like smoke as he tries to cling on to it. “Who's Misaki...?”

“Who's Misaki?” Honma gives a snarl which turns into a sob, his grip on Kamiyama tightening even as he fights back tears. _“Who_ is _Misaki?”_

Somehow his desire becomes a dark and twisted thing, his lust a means by which to punish and dominate Kamiyama as well as a way in which to find his own pleasure; he thrusts his hips forwards, pressing the head of his length firmly against Kamiyama's entrance, his whole body trembling with rage as well as barely-suppressed need. He briefly lets go of the other man's leg, just long enough to moisten his fingers with his mouth, and then he lowers his hand to reach between Kamiyama's buttocks, rubbing the moisture across his skin, slicking the sensitive flesh.

“I'll make you remember...” he snarls, slowly thrusting forwards, his fingers easing his entrance as he begins to bury himself within Kamiyama's hot, tight body. “I'll make you remember _everything...”_

“Honma-san!” Kamiyama cries out as Honma penetrates him, a sharp stab of pain tearing its way through him, causing him to tense and arch his back in response to the intrusion; his fingers tangle themselves more tightly within the bedsheets and he braces himself against the strange sensation, wincing in discomfort, although he doesn't fight back or try to pull away. For one thing, he knows better by now than to argue with the other man. “Honma...”

“Kamiyama...” There's a growled response as Honma pauses for a moment, just long enough to allow Kamiyama's body to react to his intrusion; he's never done this before with anyone, male or female, but it just feels right to give his partner the time to adjust to his presence within him. Yes, he wants Kamiyama to hurt, but even so there is still something deep down within Honma's mind which remembers the man as a friend – somebody he genuinely cared about, once; he realises that he wants to punish him, but not _completely_ brutalise him. Kamiyama is due in the studio in less than two hours, for a start; he can't risk jeopardising the culmination of his plans for a mere few moments of pleasure.

Satisfied that Kamiyama can take more, Honma slides himself further inside him inch by inch, slowly filling the other man with his length until he is completely buried within him. He gives a moan, long and loud, closing his eyes as he finally savours the feeling of sexual intimacy, his hands stroking at Kamiyama's lower back; then he pulls back slightly only to push forwards again, causing Kamiyama to cry out as he does so.

"What's that, Kamiyama?" he smirks. "Too much for you?"

"No..." Kamiyama gasps in reply, although his face is flushed, and he is trembling. "I... I can take it..."

"Good," Honma breathes wickedly, noting the way Kamiyama's fingers are already tangling themselves tightly within the bedsheets. It hurts; Honma knows it must hurt. But somehow, that only makes it all the more enjoyable. "And you _will..."_

He groans loudly as his pace increases, his hips thrusting firmly against Kamiyama, his back arching as he fills his body again and again; Kamiyama is barely responsive, as though he is aware of what is happening but doesn't really know how to react to it, lying there and taking Honma as best he can but not knowing how to deal with the strange feelings of pleasure which seem to be washing over him. It's a stark contrast to Honma's loud, passionate coupling, his anger and frustration finally being released as unrestrained lust, his body slamming furiously into Kamiyama's own. Now that he has started, Honma doesn't hold back.

"Kamiyama!" he gasps, his fingers digging into the other man's side, his breathing shallow and ragged. The other man's true name is almost on his lips but he does his best not to say it, keeping it secret for now so that he can use it against him later. Besides, to say it now would imply an emotional connection between them, something far deeper and more affectionate than what currently lies between them. "Oh, Kamiyama... _Kamiyama..."_

"Honma..." he utters, finally reaching out to the other man, almost as if for help; he whines and whimpers as his body is pounded into the bed, needing something, _someone,_ to hold onto. "H-Honma-san... please..."

"Kamiyama..." Honma's voice trails off as he slows down his pace for a moment, staring down at the man beneath him; he accepts Kamiyama's touch and allows him to take a hold of his arm, but then he grins nastily as he notices the hardness of Kamiyama's length beneath him. "Oh, it would be selfish of me to take _all_ of the pleasure, wouldn't it...?"

With a vicious smirk Honma moves a hand to touch at Kamiyama's length, pleased to note that he is firm and throbbing now, his fingers closing eagerly about him and beginning to move along his shaft with determined strokes. He begins to moves his hips in time with his hands, faster and faster, a groan escaping his throat as trickles of Kamiyama's essence already begin to leak from the head of his length. It sends a thrill through Honma to know that he can control Kamiyama's excitement like this, that he has the power to bring him to the height of his enjoyment, and having that knowledge only spurs him on to increase his pace, moving furiously inside him now, determined to bring them both to a powerful climax.

Honma has touched himself before, plenty of times, but the sensation now is completely different; it's one thing to pleasure himself with his hands when he's alone, but being here now, sharing his lusts with somebody else, it's almost more than he can take. He does his best to hold back but he's already so close, and he starts to cry out loudly as he works Kamiyama harder than ever, touching at him, pounding into him, staring down at him and watching the way the other man's body moves and reacts; Kamiyama, too, has never experience anything like this, whimpering and whining as Honma thrusts inside him, as the man's hands move up and down his length, and he starts to buck his hips upwards to meet Honma's touch. Kamiyama can feel his body winding tighter and tighter, the heat building between his thighs, his muscles tensing and trembling until suddenly---

"Honma-san!"

Kamiyama falls back and cries out, his climax tearing through him, unrestrained and powerful; he releases his essence over his chest, over Honma's fingers, causing Honma to moan with desire in response. _This_ was what Honma had wanted to see, to feel; Kamiyama at his mercy, responding to his touch, lying there beneath him and whimpering helplessly in response to his affections. He continues to work at Kamiyama thoroughly, guiding him through his orgasm, thrusting against him, inside him, his fingers milking him of every last drop until it seems he can take no more; then he releases his grip on Kamiyama's length, allowing the man to lie there, trembling, as he carries on moving inside him, for he has yet to finish and he won't stop until he, too, is utterly spent.

With a loud growl he slams into Kamiyama harder than ever, burying himself with every thrust, crying out his name and gasping loudly as he edges ever closer to his own release; he's already so close to the edge, _so_ damn close, and he focuses on knowing what he has planned for Kamiyama, knowing what will happen when he reveals the truth, picturing the look of utter devastation on the other man's face, picturing the sensation of coupling with him once he remembers everything...

"Kamiyama!"

And now it's Honma's turn to cry out as his orgasm takes hold, his whole body shaking as he releases himself deep inside Kamiyama's body; he continues to buck and thrust, to whine and moan, spending himself thoroughly within the other man, losing himself within him completely. It's not just physically that he lets himself go, either; mentally, emotionally, Honma completely loses control, the sounds coming from his throat almost resembling a series of sobs as he finishes inside Kamiyama, finally collapsing against him with a long, low moan.

"Kamiyama..."

“Honma...” Kamiyama's voice is a small, strained whisper, his mind struggling to keep up and understand what has just happened to his body. He aches, but it's not an unpleasant sensation; he feels pain yet it's not unwelcome. “Honma-san...”

“You're _mine,_ Kamiyama...” Honma leans in close, his body pressing down against Kamiyama's own, his breath hot against the bare skin of Kamiyama's neck; he moans and murmurs softly, his lips kissing at his throat, a stark contrast to the unrestrained passion he displayed while he was coupling furiously with the man beneath him. Although his touch is gentle now it feels more like a mockery of affection than a genuine display of love, a show of dominance as opposed to the soft caress of a lover. “You're _mine,_ and I'm never going to let you forget it...”

Honma gives one last thrust of his hips, drawing a loud, pained cry from Kamiyama, before he begins to pull back slowly, withdrawing his length from his partner's body with a low moan. He sighs as he finally slips from Kamiyama's entrance, leaving his skin – and his sheets – stained with his essence, flecked with spots of blood, and kneels back to survey what he has done, running a finger across Kamiyama's exposed flesh with a smirk. 

“Not bad,” he intones with a cruel smile. “Not bad at all, Kamiyama. You didn't do too badly for your first time...”

He takes a moment to savour Kamiyama's pained whimpers, more than satisfied to see the man completely humbled and dominated by his actions, then takes hold of a loose corner of the sheets and uses it to wipe himself off - he can arrange for the bed to be changed while they're out filming - and then he tucks himself back into his trousers, buttoning them up and getting to his feet. Making his way to the sink he washes and dries his hands, glancing over at the bed where Kamiyama is slowly curling himself up into a tight ball.

"This is no time to start being coy," he sneers, walking back to the bed to stand over the other man. "Come on. Get up. We've got work to do."

When there is no response from Kamiyama, Honma gives another snarl and grabs at his leg, hauling him to the edge of the bed, drawing another whimper from Kamiyama's throat.

"I said, get _up!"_ he yells, this time yanking at Kamiyama with enough force to drag him out of bed and onto the floor, where he lands with a loud _thump_ and a cry of pain - not that Honma seems to care. "We don't have time for you to lie around feeling sorry for yourself. Get some clothes on."

And with that, Honma turns on his heel and opens the door, stepping out to leave Kamiyama in a trembling heap on the cold floor. It's all too much for him to take; his body aches from what Honma has done and he's still shaking from the aftermath of such a powerful orgasm, barely even able to move. He watches Honma go with a soft whine, not wanting to be left alone, but feeling too helpless to speak; his mind is reeling with the confusion of his emotions, his need to be close to Honma again, yet at the same time fearing him for the pain which it causes - both physical and mental. He wants him, but at the same time he utterly terrifies him.

There is no time to be lost in such thoughts now, however. Now is the time for him to be MC Kamiyama once more. And perhaps, if he pleases Honma enough with a good performance, he will be rewarded...

=========================

“Yoda-san.” Honma nods to the older man as he steps out of the cell; he knows full well that he will have heard everything, and he doesn't care. Yoda has been with Honma's family for years, not quite a butler but a loyal servant nonetheless, and even now he remains with the family's only son as a retainer of sorts. Honma is in no doubt that he will do whatever he says, as he always has. “He's ready now. Take in his clothes and make sure he gets changed; we need to be in the dressing room in the next half hour.”

Yoda-san merely nods and smiles, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever, and he walks past Honma into the small cell carrying a black bundle in his arms – the outfit which Honma has chosen for MC Kamiyama. Honma smiles to himself as Yoda goes, not only from the warm, pleasant feeling of having his lusts so brutally sated, but also from the knowledge that soon his revenge will truly be under way. Soon, Kamiyama will know the truth.

Their story has begun.


	2. 25th April, 2009 - After The Show

Kamiyama's anguished cries bring Honma nothing but pleasure.

The second season of The Quiz Show has become an unexpected success, quickly gathering media attention and becoming the focus of many a topic on internet forums and newsgroups around the country; there have already been several requests for interviews with MC Kamiyama, but Honma has declined them all. It's too much of a risk for him to allow the media to have any direct access to Kamiyama – there's no knowing what they might say, what questions they might ask, and he cannot afford to allow his plan to fall apart now. No, it's easier to schedule photoshoots with privately-hired photographers and release the pictures when he's ready. That way, he remains in control – and if there's one thing Honma Toshio loves, it's being in control.

That's why he stands here over Kamiyama now, in the small, cold cell where he keeps him confined, staring down at him with a look which is a mixture of both arousal and contempt, watching as the man who was once his friend screams and writhes in mental agony on the cold concrete floor. The filming of tonight's show has been every bit as exciting as last week's premiere; the teen author Mika has proven to be as interesting a guest as Honma could have hoped, the exposure of her true situation bringing him a thrill of pleasure as he had watched her world crumble around her. The fact that he might actually have done something kind for her pales into insignificance beside the knowledge that he was able to get the better of her agent – and of course, that he has been able to trigger something hidden deeply within Kamiyama's mind. It matters not to Honma whether the contestants leave his show uplifted or broken; all he cares about is whether seeing them face-to-face causes Kamiyama to react... and to remember.

“Kamiyama.” 

He's had his fun watching the other man's pain; now it's time for his enjoyment. Reflecting on the events of the second episode have reawakened his excitement, and he's going to take it out once more on Kamiyama, whether the man wants to help him or not. At first Honma's voice seems to do nothing, the other man being so lost within his own torment that he doesn't even hear it.

“Kamiyama.” 

He speaks it more loudly now, more insistently, but again Kamiyama doesn't seem to hear. He's stopped screaming, but now he is curled up into a small ball, rocking back and forth and making soft whimpering noises where he nudges against Honma's feet.

_“Kamiyama!”_

_That_ gets his attention. Kamiyama gives a small cry of surprise, his head jerking up as he notices Honma's shout, and he glances up at the man as if shocked to see him standing there, even though it was Honma's yelling which caused him to start screaming in the first place.

“I need you to help me, Kamiyama...” Now that he's got Kamiyama to notice him, Honma's voice becomes softer and quieter again – deceptively soft and quiet, considering what he has in mind. “You did well tonight, making people see the truth about Mika. You did exactly what I told you.”

He reaches out to stroke at Kamiyama's hair, causing the other man to whimper softly. Isn't that what Kamiyama wants? Doesn't he want to make Honma-san proud? For some reason he seems to think the world hurts less when Honma-san is proud of him...

“And because you did what I told you, everything turned out exactly like we wanted...”

Kamiyama can't remember what the plan was, or even if he was told about one, but Honma seems pleased so he should probably be happy.

“...and because of that, well... I went and got a little... excited.”

Honma laughs softly, reaching down to take hold of one of Kamiyama's hands; he squeezes it gently, running his thumb across the back of his hand, guiding his fingers up towards his leg. Wordlessly and without objection Kamiyama complies with what Honma wants, placing his fingers against his thigh without saying a word.

“There's something about filming this show which gets me so hot and bothered, Kamiyama... something about seeing you on that studio floor in your sparkly little tuxedo, seeing the way you can dance so easily about the questions... seeing the way you can manipulate our guests so masterfully...”

Even as Honma talks he's winding himself up further and further, feeling his crotch tighten, feeling the heat build between his legs; for some reason picturing Kamiyama dressed for the Quiz Show and chatting with the contestants arouses him more than he had previously realised, the memory of his warm smile and bright laughter making him feel different somehow, and he gives a loud moan as recalls how it felt to couple with the man a few days previously, his body soft and warm and tight... He's already hard, his excitement creating a prominent bulge in his trousers, and he growls as he drags Kamiyama's fingers from his thigh to his arousal, making him touch at it through the fabric.

“Do you know what I want you to do?” Honma breathes, his voice low and husky. “Do you know what I want from you, Kamiyama...?”

The other man nods silently, unable to meet Honma's gaze; he keeps his head down, his eyes fixed on the floor even as his hands touch and stroke at Honma's crotch. Without looking he fumbles at the button and zip, exposing Honma's underwear, drawing a long, low moan from the man's throat as his fingers brush at him through the flimsy material. He rubs at him for a little longer, his hands cupping him, touching at his hardness... and then he finally looks up, cheeks burning with what must be shame, as if to confirm what the other man wants.

“Yes...” Honma smirks, his eyes blazing with the hungry passion which he feels; he continues to guide Kamiyama's fingers, easing them inside the waistband of his underwear, helping him to pull them down and free his hardness. He groans as it juts out towards Kamiyama, and he closes the man's fingers around him, pushing his hips forwards, presuming he will know what he wants. With his other hand he takes a hold of Kamiyama's head, pulling it towards his crotch.

“I know what you can do with that mouth,” he breathes, smirking, his voice shaky with excitement and blatant lust. “I know what you can do with words... you have such a clever tongue, Kamiyama... show me what else you can do with it...”

Kamiyama stares at Honma's arousal with a mixture of fear and determination. He needs to please Honma-san... he wants to please him... but he's never touched a man like this before, and he really doesn't know where or how to start. In fact he's never touched _anyone_ like this before; the only intimacy he has ever shared with anyone was when Honma pinned him down before the show last week and took him. His memories of it are still vague and hazy, although he can recall feelings of intense pleasure and a warm satisfaction; perhaps Honma will allow him to experience those feelings again if he does his best to make him happy now.

Leaning forward – guided by the presence of Honma's hand upon his head – Kamiyama presses his lips firmly but gently against the hot, smooth skin at the head of Honma's length, his fingers holding the shaft; the mere touch of his mouth against him draws a long, low groan from Honma's throat, causing the man to buck forwards, to dig his fingers more firmly within Kamiyama's hair. Instinctively he parts his lips to take the tip of Honma's arousal within his mouth, his tongue caressing at the firm flesh; his taste is warm and salty, his scent heavy and musky, and to his surprise Kamiyama realises that he actually likes it.

He allows himself to savour the taste a while longer, then dares to pull back, releasing Honma's length from his mouth; Honma frowns, a curse on his lips, perhaps a punishment – but then Kamiyama's tongue is finding its way along Honma's entire length, tracing its way from base to tip, even swiping teasingly at his head again before he once more takes Honma between his lips. Kamiyama couldn't say where he learned how to do this; it's partly instinct, partly some half-remembered ideas from fantasies he had when he was a teenager. He must have been younger, once; he must have entertained ideas of wildly coupling with other people, even if his desire seems to have waned by now, but being with Honma appears to be re-awakening a hunger he's forgotten that he had.

Moaning quietly Kamiyama slides his mouth further down around Honma's length, slowly taking him as deep as he can go; his low groans send vibrations through Honma's flesh, his soft, wet mouth tight and slick around his hardness, and he begins to suck hungrily at him, his tongue pressing against the smooth skin. Honma bucks forwards, unable to keep himself from reacting to Kamiyama's attentions, the head of his length hitting the back of Kamiyama's throat and causing the other man to gag slightly - but then he pulls back, pacing himself, starting to move in a slow, steady rhythm in time with Kamiyama's mouth. Trickles of his pre-cum already leak forth to stain Kamiyama's tongue but he swallows them down eagerly, finding that he enjoys Honma's taste, that he enjoys knowing he can give the man so much pleasure.

Honma is already drawing close to his climax, the excitement of the show combined with Kamiyama's skilled lips making his body grow tighter and tighter, his desire building quickly within him and threatening to break out at any moment; his fingers tangle more tightly within Kamiyama's hair, his hips start to move more quickly against the man's mouth, his whole body trembling and shaking as he gasps and moans Kamiyama's name. The feeling of having him on his knees, doing exactly what he wants, is almost more than he can take - and then, with an expert swipe of Kamiyama's tongue, Honma is crashing over the edge, practically howling the man's name as he begins to come.

His sudden orgasm is so passionate, so intense, that he has to brace himself against Kamiyama to stop his legs giving way beneath him; the cries which tear their way from his throat are harsh and guttural, a series of raw, primal howls which punctuate the loud moans still issuing from Kamiyama's own mouth. He bucks and whines, his back arching, his head falling back as he releases his essence between Kamiyama's lips again and again.

Kamiyama takes it as best he can, virtually gagging on Honma's length as the man thrusts wildly down his throat, swallowing his issue and trying not to choke; it's not as though he could move even if he wanted to, however, seeing as Honma has his fingers tangled so tightly within his hair that he is locked in place. And so he rides out Honma's orgasm with him, moving with the other man as he thrusts against him, shaping his lips around his length until finally Honma falls back, allowing himself to slip from between Kamiyama's lips, leaving stains of his essence on the man's chin.

“Kamiyama...” He rocks back on his heels, releasing his grip on the man's hair but continuing to touch and stroke at it, running loose strands of it between his fingers; the way he treats him is almost as though he is a lover.

“Honma-san...” Kamiyama whimpers quietly, his head falling forward once more, loose strands of his hair covering his eyes. He reaches up to wipe at his chin, his fingers coming away soiled and sticky, and he rubs his hand on his trousers, staining them with Honma's mess. Should he feel glad that he was able to pleasure Honma with his mouth? Or should he feel guilt that he wasn't able to clean him with his tongue as well as he could have? For a few moments he worries that he will be punished for his inability to take the other man's length as deeply as he could have done... but before he can dwell on it to much he is aware of Honma crouching down beside him, the other man's fingers cradling his cheek, his lips pressing suddenly and hungrily against his own.

Honma moans loudly as he kisses Kamiyama, savouring his essence, his tongue sliding between Kamiyama's lips to gather more of his taste and swallow it down himself; he pulls away only to sit down properly on the floor beside Kamiyama and then he resumes the kiss, one hand sliding around to the back of the other man's neck, drawing him closer against himself. His body is still trembling from his climax, his fingers shaking, his very being suffused with a warm satisfied glow.

“Now then...” Honma breathes huskily, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “I think you've earned a little reward for that, don't you? Not to mention the exceptional performance which you put on for us tonight.” He pulls away from Kamiyama, but it's only so he can move onto the bed; he pats the space beside him indicating that Kamiyama join him there, which the other man does so. Then he lays down, drawing Kamiyama closer, one hand sliding down between them to touch at Kamiyama's crotch – and, much to Honma's satisfaction, Kamiyama is already hard, unlike the last time he touched him like this.

“Good boy,” he smiles, his fingers quickly finding their way down inside the waistband of Kamiyama's trousers, touching at his length, closing around him and gently squeezing at his flesh. He begins to slide his fingers along him with firm, languid strokes, rubbing his thumb over the tip, drawing a soft whine from Kamiyama's throat as he does so. “Such a good boy...”

Kamiyama isn't sure what to make of what's happening. He leans heavily against Honma, his face pressing against the other man's shoulder, and he dares to clutch at Honma's arm as he touches and caresses at him so intimately. It's a reward for good behaviour, isn't it? It certainly feels pleasant enough, and he whimpers as Honma touches him, welcoming the touch, his hips beginning to thrust forwards in time with Honma's firm strokes; he's not pleasured himself since Honma coupled with him, he's not even sure why, but somehow he understands that the feeling of release is somehow that much more satisfying when he's sharing it with Honma rather than doing it alone.

He moans more loudly as Honma increases his pace, one hand gripping at the bedsheets, the other reaching out to clutch at Honma's arm as he starts to writhe and thrust forwards into his hand; Honma has certainly had more practice than Kamiyama at touching himself and he puts that experience to good use now, his fingers sliding expertly over Kamiyama's flesh, squeezing and touching, his thumb flicking over the head of his length to gather the moisture which is already leaking there.

"Come for me, Kamiyama..." he intones, leaning in to breath against the man's ear. "You've earned this..."

Kamiyama's reply is a strained whimper, his body responding eagerly now to Honma's touch, his hips thrusting forwards with every stroke.

"I want this..." Honma continues, his lips pressing against Kamiyama's forehead, kissing at his skin, his mouth nipping at Kamiyama's ear playfully, lustfully. "I want you to come for me... I want to see you trembling beneath my touch... I want you to think about what it felt like when I was inside you..."

"Honma-san!" And with the reminder of that particular memory Kamiyama hits his climax, his back arching as he calls out Honma's name, his body releasing its essence into Honma's fingers, staining his hand, staining the inside of his trousers. "Honma... Honma-san... please... Honma-san!"

Honma laughs softly as Kamiyama trembles and shudders beneath his touch. How can he not savour this feeling of complete control, this feeling of power which he finds he has whenever he makes Kamiyama succumb to his desire? It's delicious and intoxicating, thrilling and satisfying, and he doesn't even object when Kamiyama snuggles needily against him, still whining and whimpering from the intensity of his climax. In fact there might even be something _enjoyable_ about having Kamiyama cuddled against him like this, although he is too busy focusing on the pleasure of making the man submit to ponder why he might be enjoying the affection.

Without the deadline for the next episode approaching, there's no need to hurry to the television studio and there's no need for Honma to be in any rush to leave the cell. In fact, before he even realises it's happening, Honma is falling into sleep with his arms still wrapped around Kamiyama, the other man clinging onto him as they drift together into a contented doze.

=========================

It's some time later that Honma awakens, and it takes him a few moments for his mind to register where – and when – he is. He normally sleeps alone, and the presence of a warm body beside him is an unexpected confusion until he recognises the familiar scent and feel of Kamiyama, recognises the surroundings as being Kamiyama's small cell. He shifts slightly to look down at the man who is cradled against him, his chest steadily rising and falling in sleep, and he sighs. Much as Honma feels the need to show his dominance over Kamiyama – much as he feels the need to belittle and humiliate him, to punish him for a crime he doesn't even remember committing – it somehow feels wrong to violently wake him, as if he can recall a time when he used to treat Kamiyama with gentle care instead of hatred and contempt. He tries carefully to extract himself from Kamiyama's grip, taking a hold of one of his arms and lifting it from his side, placing it down upon the bed so he---

“Honma-san...?” Kamiyama blinks into wakefulness, his eyes fluttering open as he turns his head to glance up at the other man. He yawns and begins to apologise, even though Honma was the one who woke him up. “Honma-san... I... I'm sorry... I hope I didn't wake you...”

“It's okay, Kamiyama.” Honma finds himself responding softly, and he even strokes at Kamiyama's hair as the man stretches and starts to sit up. Why is acting so gently all of a sudden? It must be the after-effects of his orgasm still lingering, he thinks. Even when he pleasures himself there's a release of anger which leaves him feeling placid for some time afterwards; yes, that must be it. “You didn't wake me. But I do have to go.”

Honma sits up too, pushing himself away from Kamiyama and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed; he runs his fingers through his hair, which has become a mess from their exertions, and tucks himself back into his trousers before buttoning them back up. Glancing back at Kamiyama he almost feels a pang of regret that he is leaving him alone like this, but quickly dismisses the feeling as a lingering effect of hormones and nothing more. It doesn't help that Kamiyama seems to be reaching for him, but... no. He's just imagining it. There can't be anything between them except a shared past and a need for stress relief.

“I'll be back tomorrow, Kamiyama.” He gets to his feet, turning back to glance briefly down at where the other man is still sitting on the bed. “I'll bring you the portfolio for the next contestant then. You should rest for now; it's been a long night.”

And with that, he turns and walks out of the door, once more leaving Kamiyama alone in his bed.

Kamiyama whimpers softly as Honma leaves, but the sound is so quiet that he doesn't hear it. For a few brief moments – a few warm, happy, brief moments – Kamiyama was able to feel the presence of an actual human being beside him, a human being who he trusts and he relies on, and now that human is gone. Honma-san is cruel, he knows, but he has shown glimpses of himself which reveal that he can be capable of such kindness towards Kamiyama... such gentleness... and he seems to recall a feeling that Honma has not always been so dark and conflicted. Honma-san must have been younger once, too. Did he know him then? He must know _something_ , seeing as he has promised to help Kamiyama remember.

Mainly though, the overwhelming feeling which washes over Kamiyama when Honma leaves his cell is one of loss. Loss of human company, loss of affection, loss of... _something_ which he cannot quite grasp, but he knows it has gone. He curls up on the bed, clutching the sheets tightly about himself, and begins to cry.

=========================

Yoda-san is waiting patiently outside the cell, as always, and he smiles at Honma as he emerges and closes the door, his hair a ruffled mess. He doesn't say anything, falling easily into place beside the younger man as they begin to walk away from the cell door, although again there can be no doubt that Yoda-san has heard everything which transpired within the tiny room. Honma isn't even thinking about that, however; his mind has already turned towards next week's episode, towards the questions which will be asked and the traps which will be set for the next contestant... and the memories which might be triggered for Kamiyama when that happens.


	3. 2nd May, 2009 - After The Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((The scene in the cell at the end of this chapter is taken directly from the show, but I wanted to try and explore what kind of emotions Kamiyama and Honma are going through while it happens. Thank you for reading!))

Damn it, why had Takasugi decided to return to the studio just _then_ with the filming equipment? She'd done so well tonight following Honma's instructions whilst walking around the educational institution Neo Arkadia, and then she'd had to go and almost ruin it all by stumbling across him and Yoda-san bundling Kamiyama into the car after his inevitable post-filming collapse. It's something which happens after every episode, something which Honma expects and which he and Yoda-san are well-prepared to deal with, but thus far they have managed to keep it a secret from the rest of the crew. There's no way Saejima would just let it slide – not that Honma would stop now, given that his plan is already so well under way - but it will cause added complications if she starts asking questions about Kamiyama's well-being. He just hopes Takasugi won't feel the need to tell her about it.

Well, Honma will have to worry about that in the morning. His main priority right now is returning Kamiyama to his cell, and as he climbs into the back seat he gives Yoda-san the instruction to drive, turning his back on Takasugi and making sure Kamiyama is at least buckled into his seatbelt. Then he sighs and sits back, congratulating himself on another successful episode, a smug grin making its way onto his face.

Today's episode meant something to him personally, as well as being a professional triumph – at least, he thinks so. If Saejima doubts that the viewers at home will have been on the edge of their seats seeing Takasugi's live coverage, then she really does have a thing or two to learn about the cruelty of reality TV. As for its personal meaning, well, shouldn't everybody respect their elder family members? Honma certainly respects his father in his own way, even if Saejima doesn't. It hasn't been easy growing up with the President of Ginga TV as a father, but he's certainly doing him proud when it comes to ensuring good viewing ratings, and he's already thinking of ways in which he can make the next episode even better... 

Kamiyama gives a quiet moan, bringing Honma's thoughts back to the present moment. His little puppet has done well tonight, as ever, and he grins as he glances across to where Kamiyama sits, still dressed in his stage outfit, his head lolling against his chest. Honma almost feels a touch of pity for the man, and reaches out across the seat to place his hand over Kamiyama's own, his voice for once gentle and reassuring.

“Kamiyama... you did well tonight.”

“Honma...?” Kamiyama slowly looks up as if noticing Honma's presence for the first time, as if struggling to see him through a mental haze – which, of course he is – and he focuses his gaze, his voice small and uncertain. “Honma-san...?”

“I'm proud of you.” Honma's smile may be smug and patronising, but it is at least genuine. “You handled the show really well. You balanced Takasugi's live broadcast with the questions perfectly. And you looked...”

The last comment slips out before Honma can stop himself and he pauses mid-sentence, watching Kamiyama warily in case the other man noticed, but Kamiyama appears to be oblivious. How _does_ he think Kamiyama looks? He certainly has an impressive stage presence, a charisma which even Honma cannot deny, and even though he is the one who has helped him to cultivate that charisma, he still finds himself in awe of it, more than he would have imagined. As for how he looks in that tuxedo... the one which he picked out for him... yes, he can see why Kamiyama has quickly been gaining a following of female fans. But he picked it because he knew other people would like it, didn't he? Not because he found it attractive himself. Not because he thought it accentuated Kamiyama's natural good looks, and his charm... 

No, he's not going to get caught up in thinking about that. Kamiyama is a tool to him and nothing more. A tool to be used in order to gain his revenge, as well as being the very object of the revenge itself, and if he happens to use him as a convenient way in which to take out his sexual frustration as well, then so be it. But even as he recalls how he has taken advantage of Kamiyama he feels a sudden rush of arousal and excitement, a thrill of pleasure at how it felt to be with him, so physically close and so intimate; he remembers how it felt to have his length buried inside the warmth of Kamiyama's body, how it felt to have Kamiyama's lips wrapped about his hardness, how it felt to have his fingers gripping him firmly and bringing him to completion. It's the perfect combination of power and release, sexual gratification combined with absolute power over Kamiyama, and Honma gives a low moan as he realises that he is becoming excited again.

It's not just his memories of being with Kamiyama which arouse him, however. He also feels that rush of pleasure which comes from the completion of a good show, the knowledge that he has publicly humiliated and shamed somebody who deserved it, that thrill of arousal from knowing he has gained the upper hand over somebody who believed themselves to be above such recrimination. Against such judgement. Because no matter what he may have said to Saejima, that is exactly what this is; and whatever she might say, he is in a position to dole out that judgement. The fact that she doesn't even seem to remember his past sums up her arrogance. But it's not Saejima that he's thinking about now; it's Kamiyama... his beautiful little creation... his own personal plaything...

“Yoda-san... don't disturb us.” Honma utters the command to his retainer who glances at the rear mirror as he drives; his eyes meet Honma's own in the reflection there, and he nods in assent and understanding. Then he closes the partition between the front and back of the car, granting Honma some privacy with Kamiyama. That done, Honma turns his attention back to Kamiyama, who appears to have been oblivious to the entire exchange.

“Kamiyama.” Honma unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts closer to the other man with a grin, reaching out to place a hand upon his thigh. His mind is made up now; he's going to take out his excitement on Kamiyama again, and he's so wound up he can't even wait for them to get back to his cell in order to do so. “We're going to have some fun again, Kamiyama...”

Whilst Honma was lost within his own thoughts and issuing his orders to Yoda-san, Kamiyama appears to have retreated into his own world again. He flinches slightly when Honma touches him, looking up at the other man's face with a hint of fear in his expression, eyes widening at the predatory grin on Honma's face.

“Honma-san...”

“Did you hear me? I said we're going to have some fun.” 

Honma moves in slowly, reaching out to cup Kamiyama's chin in his hand, his slender fingers framing his mouth as he studies the man carefully. Were Kamiyama's eyes always that beautiful shade of brown, or is it just the dim light making them appear that way? Was his mouth always that inviting? Honma gives an irritable growl as he tries to shove these questions aside, leaning in to press his lips against Kamiyama's own, engaging him in a passionate, hungry kiss.

At first Kamiyama goes rigid, his entire body freezing up as Honma touches him, perhaps out of fear that Honma is angry with him or will punish him somehow; but as Honma continues to kiss him, his tongue sliding between his lips, Kamiyama feels himself responding in kind. Before he even knows what he's doing, one arm slides around Honma's back, holding him in place, and he gives a low moan in his throat as his tongue slides over Honma's own, the kiss becoming more than just a selfish display of Honma's needs and turning into an almost warm display of affection.

But why is he reacting in this way? Even Kamiyama is not entirely sure why he welcomes Honma's attentions so eagerly; the man has repeatedly abused and mistreated him, hurting him both mentally and physically, so why does he respond so easily to his touch now? Perhaps it is merely his need for physical closeness, his need to feel the touch of someone, anyone, even if that someone is the same man who causes him so much suffering. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed the way Honma has touched him before, even if his approach was somewhat overbearing and forceful. Is it merely a need for sexual release, then? Or... is it something else? Honma-san is certainly not unattractive, in a dark and moody sort of way. Even so...

“Kamiyama...”

Honma pulls his mouth away to moan his name softly, his lips planting a trail of kisses along his neck, one of his hands sliding down between Kamiyama's legs to touch at the bulge within his trousers. He feels Kamiyama's body responding, his length growing hard, and he gives another moan as he gently squeezes at it, pleased to discover that the other man is also experiencing feelings of sexual desire. It's not that he cares whether Kamiyama enjoys himself while he is with him – at least, that's what he tells himself – but it will make him far easier to manipulate, far more enjoyable to toy with.

“You've done well today, Kamiyama... you deserve a little reward...”

With a low purr, Honma moves both of his hands down to Kamiyama's crotch, fiddling with his trousers until he manages to undo them – a task not made any easier by the gentle rocking of the car – and then he slips a hand down inside Kamiyama's underwear, taking a hold of him as he did before, feeling his length harden beneath his touch, firm and hot. Kamiyama responds with a moan of his own, bucking forwards into Honma's touch, and he turns his face to one side, covering it with an arm, as if ashamed to be enjoying such attentions.

“No... I want to see you...” 

There's a slight edge to Honma's voice as he grabs Kamiyama's arm and pulls it away from his face; this draws a whimper from Kamiyama and causes Honma to soften his tone slightly. 

“I want to see you,” he says again, in a way which he hopes is more reassuring as well as authoritative; the fingers of his other hand beginning to stroke at Kamiyama's hardness. “I want to see the look on your face as I touch you... I want to hear those delicious little noises you make...”

Honma's voice trails off as he leans in to kiss at Kamiyama again, his lips making their way from his mouth to his neck, trailing their way down towards his shoulder; with one hand he continues to touch at the man's arousal, the fingers of his other hand now moving to the collar of Kamiyama's shirt, deftly unfastening the clip of his bow tie and undoing the buttons in order to bare his soft, smooth skin. He plants a series of kisses at the base of Kamiyama's neck, more eager now, more hungry, a loud, low groan issuing from his throat as he tightens his grip.

“Tell me you want it...” He pulls his mouth away from Kamiyama's skin for long enough to utter the words, his voice low and husky, his eyes burning with desire. The feeling of power and control stokes his lust further, making his words sound almost like a growl. “Tell me you want me...”

“Honma-san...” Kamiyama whimpers, the sound sending a thrill of pleasure throughout Honma's entire body. He does want Honma to touch him like this... doesn't he? He savours the feeling of closeness, the rare chance to have skin-on-skin contact... to feel wanted... to feel happy... “Please, Honma-san... I... I want...”

What _does_ Kamiyama want? He wants to remember his past, to know who he is; he wants to know Honma's true identity, and why the man holds so much power over him. At the same time he wants to please Honma, to make him happy, to make him proud – but right now, all he has to give is himself. He already knows that he can please Honma with his body, and it's not an entirely unpleasant experience although it leaves him feeling sore and used for some time afterwards... but even so it brings him comfort to know that he can be useful in this way, that he will be appreciated, even if only for a short time. And so yet again he submits to Honma's touch, giving in to the other man once more.

_“I want you...”_

“Of course you do.”

Honma laughs softly and releases his grip on Kamiyama's arousal, but it's only so he can take things further. With an eager purr he eases Kamiyama's trousers down slowly, giving a moan as he frees his length; Kamiyama stands firm and erect, the sight of him causing even Honma to blush, and he takes a moment to admire that part of his body before he grins and starts to touch at Kamiyama's inner thigh. His fingers dance across the bare skin as they make their way towards Kamiyama's crotch, touching teasingly at his balls, cupping them and stroking them; they twitch beneath his hand, drawing a groan from Honma before he reaches even further down to press his finger against Kamiyama's exposed entrance. He toys with him briefly, sliding his fingertips against him, before slipping a finger inside his body to prepare him for what is to happen next.

Kamiyama can't help but yelp at the sudden intrusion, even though the feeling is more than pleasant. He angles his body more towards Honma, giving the man better access to his most sensitive of places and crying out when Honma begins to slide his finger slowly in and out; there is a slight stab of pain but it's easily outmatched by the tingling feelings of excitement, the heightened arousal which washes over him. He even manages a disappointed whine as Honma removes his hand, pushing against him in a physical display of eagerness which is not entirely feigned despite his need to please.

"Hold still, Kamiyama." Honma smirks, his shaking hands struggling with his own trousers, but he finally manages to undo them and free his own hardness; he touches at himself for a few moments, glancing over at Kamiyama while he takes a hold of his arousal - also noting that Kamiyama is watching him in turn - and then he moves back into position over the other man, bracing himself against the car's seats as he spits onto a hand and slicks himself, then he presses the hot, smooth head of his length at Kamiyama's entrance with a lustful moan. He looks up at Kamiyama's face briefly, their eyes meeting, and then he smiles as he pushes forwards, entering Kamiyama's body with a loud groan.

“Honma-san!” Kamiyama whimpers as the other man enters him, his body going rigid with the sudden stabbing pain of penetration; Honma pauses for a moment, sensing Kamiyama's discomfort, giving his partner time to adjust once more to his presence before easing himself further inside. “Honma-san... please...”

"It's okay..." Honma soothes him, kissing at his neck, stroking at his hair, prepared to be slow and patient as long as he gets what he wants in the end. "I know it hurts... it's okay..."

Even as he speaks he pushes himself further inside, inch by inch, drinking in Kamiyama's whines and moans until he is completely buried inside him; and then he draws back only to thrust forwards again, forcing Kamiyama's body to adapt to him but being gentle in doing so, feeling his body accept him and smirking in response. He sets a slow pace to begin with, pulling back carefully before thrusting forwards again, but his movements are steady and measured, as much as they can be with the car occasionally lurching from side to side. He glances down to where their bodies meet, giving a loud moan at the sight of his length burying itself within Kamiyama, at the knowledge that the other man is still hard and ready, his erection standing proud as Honma pounds slowly into him. He smirks and reaches down to touch at Kamiyama's hardness, drawing a soft cry from him as his hand brushes against his length, and then his fingers close around him in a firm grip as he begins to stroke in time with the movement of his hips.

"Come for me, " he breathes, wanting to see the look on Kamiyama's face as pleasure overwhelms him, wanting to feel his tight, hot body shudder and clench about him. "Come for me, Kamiyama..."

By this point, it's not as though Kamiyama even needs much encouragement. Honma has already wound him up with his touches and kisses, with the way he is filling him, and he can already feel his body drawing close to its climax; it's a rare moment of clarity for Kamiyama and he finds himself suddenly fully aware of exactly where he is and what he is doing, knowing why he is doing it... and he realises he doesn't regret it. In this moment he is glad that Honma is coupling with him, that he can bring Honma pleasure in this way... that he is wanted... that he is happy...

"Honma-san!"

And that clarity is suddenly shattered as he crashes over the edge into a passionate orgasm, his whole body trembling as he bucks forwards into Kamiyama's hand, releasing his essence in a sticky, messy trail over Honma's fingers and up the front of his shirt; his back arches and he cries out again and again, lost in his ecstasy, gripping tightly onto Honma while the other man works him through his climax. Honma continues to thrust inside him as he comes, burying himself within him, savouring the feeling of power he has over Kamiyama by making him respond like this. It's enough to bring Honma to the brink himself and he is barely able to hold on as he helps ride Kamiyama to completion, not allowing himself to let go until he finally feels Kamiyama's shudders subside - but when they do he loses his control, crying out Kamiyama's name as he releases his own essence inside Kamiyama's body until he is utterly, utterly spent.

Honma thrusts again, once, twice more, and then he collapses against Kamiyama, panting and breathless, his length still buried inside him as he moans loudly against the other man's shoulder. His breathing comes in ragged, shaky gasps, his hands still holding firmly onto Kamiyama, their bodies pressed tightly together as they both recover from their rough, frantic coupling. Honma smiles to himself, suffused in the warm afterglow of his orgasm, welcoming the feel of being cradled so closely against Kamiyama and wondering when he last felt so safe and secure...

Just then the car rolls to a halt, the sudden stop jarring Honma both physically and mentally; wondering what he is doing he suddenly pulls away from Kamiyama, his length slipping from Kamiyama's body in a single, slick movement, and he hurriedly stuffs himself back into his trousers before adjusting Kamiyama's clothes and tucking him back into his own. Kamiyama seems to have slipped back into a semi-conscious state, although he whimpers when Honma touches him, and Honma pauses for a moment, staring at his face; without even thinking he leans in to place a delicate kiss on Kamiyama's lips and strokes his fingers through his hair, buttoning up his shirt and straightening his bow tie. Only then does he tap on the partition which divides the front and the back of the car, and it opens to reveal Yoda-san's face in the rear-view mirror; again, Yoda-san nods in affirmation when he sees Honma, his expression bland yet attentive.

“We've arrived, Honma-san.”

“Good.” Honma doesn't even bother with a 'thank you', and if Yoda-san has noticed Honma's flushed cheeks and the quickness of his breathing – not to mention the heavy, musky scent of sex which now fills the back seat, the obvious stains up the front of Kamiyama's shirt – then he doesn't comment on it. It's not exactly as though Honma was making any effort to stay quiet, either. Yoda-san merely gets out of the car and opens the door on Kamiyama's side, waiting for Honma to exit the vehicle so that the two of them can lift him to his feet and escort him back to his cell.

“Be careful with him,” Honma mutters as he gets out, and Yoda-san raises an eyebrow. It's not like Honma to be so concerned with Kamiyama's well-being, but the older man remains quiet and nods, gently taking a hold of Kamiyama on one side as Honma supports him on the other. Between them they guide Kamiyama into the building and enter a small reception area where several medical personnel are waiting to take Kamiyama away, as they are after every show. Their wages are paid for out of Honma's salary; their names are not recorded anywhere on Ginga TV's lists of employees. As far as Saejima and the rest of the Quiz Show's staff are concerned, this facility and these people do not exist.

"Clean him up and change him. I need some time alone." Honma hands Kamiyama over to one of the medical personnel, leaving Yoda-san with them to oversee his care, before walking back outside on his own; his hands are jammed into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders slumped and tense despite the sexual release he managed to achieve on the car journey here. It's getting cold now, a harsh breeze causing him to push the hair back from his eyes as he sighs heavily and glances up at the darkened sky.

Kamiyama is not the only trying to make sense of his emotions, trying to piece together his past. Honma, too, is confused by the way these sexual encounters keep making him feel. He tells himself that they're nothing more than a convenience, that using Kamiyama's body for his own pleasure is no different from eating when he is hungry, or sleeping when he is tired - but if that's the case, why does he find his mind wandering to thoughts of coupling with Kamiyama when he's lying alone in his own bed? Why does he keep staring at Kamiyama on the station monitors while they're on the air, wishing he could touch the man and almost counting down the minutes to when the broadcast ends so they can be in the same room again? It's nothing more than lust, surely - nothing more than his body becoming accustomed to the knowledge that he can help himself to Kamiyama whenever he wants some release. Yes, that must be it. After all, Kamiyama killed Misaki, and he can't afford to feel anything for Kamiyama other than hatred.

...can he?

=========================

Some time later, freshly showered and changed back into his plain white clothes, Kamiyama stands before the mirror in his cell and tries to piece together more broken pieces of his shattered mind. Somehow being intimate with Honma has jogged his memory, brought to the surface a jumble of names and images which seem to hold meaning; there's a bridge, and there's the shore of a lake, and it's raining, and there's a girl... that same girl he's seen before... and the girl has a name...

“Misaki...”

He says the word carefully, almost reverently, as though even voicing it could cause it to break; so focused is he on her name that he fails to notice Honma entering his cell, the other man taking a moment to merely watch and listen as Kamiyama speaks the name of the girl he once loved... the girl he still loves, even though she died over six years ago. He had thought that hearing the name from Kamiyama's lips would bring him some kind of satisfaction, but he realises now that he has been wrong.

“Misaki...”

He echoes the name himself as if testing how it feels, how it sounds; as though by saying it he could reclaim it from Kamiyama, cleanse it, keep it forever safe from the boy who murdered her.

“It's Misaki!” Kamiyama practically throws himself at Honma's feet, proud that he has finally been able to remember something, eager to prove to Honma that his memory is returning and to show him that he is trying hard after all. “I was with a person named Misaki!”

“That's right. You were with somebody named Misaki.” Honma crouches down to meet Kamiyama on the floor, draping his arms across the other man's shoulders, a smile upon his lips, and Kamiyama feels so proud. He remembered! He remembered, all by himself!

“Both of us fell into the water...” Kamiyama stumbles over the words as they fall from his mouth, keen to show Honma that it isn't just the girl's name he remembers, but his expression grows sad as he realises the terrible truth. “...but... but I was the only one who was saved...”

“Correct. You were the only one who was saved.” Honma's smile widens, and for a moment Kamiyama thinks he might be rewarded. “Only you...”

And then his demeanour changes completely, his smile contorting into a mask of rage, and Kamiyama chides himself for not seeing it sooner; Honma's smile hadn't been one of praise, it had been the dangerous, wicked smile of a predator, something he should have learned to recognise by now. Perhaps their intimacy in the car on the way back from the studio has affected him, blinded him to Honma's mood, which only makes Honma's sudden agression hurt even more.

“Only you were saved. Misaki died... because of you.” Honma's grip on Kamiyama tightens, his lip curling back into an even more hateful snarl, his expression and body language a far cry from the gentle, affectionate man which Kamiyama caught a brief glimpse of in he car earlier. “Pay for it. _You have to pay for it!”_

Kamiyama screams as Honma releases him, another wave of memories flooding his mind. He doesn't understand... he doesn't understand! He thought Honma would be proud of him for remembering! And then he falls to the floor clutching at his head as the images once more threaten to overwhelm him, slicing at his mind like fragments of broken glass, somehow parts of a whole which he cannot piece back together.

He deserves this, Honma tells himself. Kamiyama deserves to suffer like this. It's part of his judgement, part of his punishment, even if the man doesn't yet remember what he is being punished for. And yet... and yet he can't shake the niggling feeling of doubt which seems to be at the back of his mind, a memory of the shared closeness from their school days, something which tells him he is wrong for taking such pleasure in watching Kamiyama's pain. That he should pity him instead...

_No. I don't have time for such emotional weakness. That kind of pity is for children, and we stopped being happy, carefree children a long, long time ago._

He's got what he wanted from Kamiyama, at least for now, and he tells himself that he feels no guilt or shame as he turns his back on the man who was once his childhood friend, leaving him alone once more.


	4. 9th May, 2009 - Before The Show

“I'll take him from here.”

Honma Toshio prises a barely-conscious Kamiyama Satoru from Yoda-san's arms and guides him down the corridor towards the shower block, where he will be cleaned and changed before the filming of this evening's show. It's a particularly important episode tonight, at least as far as Saejima is concerned; the renowned fortune-teller Nokko-sensei will be the contestant, and there's a potential contract for her with Ginga TV if the episode goes well.

 _I suppose that all depends on how honest she decides to be with herself,_ Honma thinks. _People who lie to themselves and run from their pasts don't deserve to be successful anyway._

Kamiyama gives a whimper as Honma bundles him into the shower room; it resembles the changing room of a gym more than anything else, an open tiled area with individual cubicles for showers along one wall. A pile of towels and Kamiyama's stage clothes lie on a row of benches in the middle of the room, ready for Kamiyama to change into once he is clean. There are already a couple of orderlies on hand when Honma arrives – it's usually down to them to wash Kamiyama and make sure he is dressed properly for filming, a task which Honma leaves them to do without him – and they appear to be surprised by Honma's presence, but he waves them away and asks for some privacy this time. Tonight, he'll be the one responsible for making sure MC Kamiyama is ready.

Placing Kamiyama on one of the benches in the middle of the room, Honma laughs softly to himself. His designs are turning out well so far; each episode has gone according to plan, his revenge slowly gaining shape as the pieces he has been manipulating over the past two years finally begin to come together. And at the centre of it all, the man sitting limply and helplessly before him.

“Come on, Kamiyama.” Honma tugs at the other man's shirt. “You know it's almost time. We need to get you dressed properly.”

Kamiyama moans softly as Honma begins to undress him, confused by the fact that it's this man attending to him. He's used to being cleaned and changed by the facility's staff, faceless orderlies who barely even speak to him as they wash and dress him; it's disorientating to have Honma doing it, and in some part of his mind Kamiyama asks himself why this is so. Is Honma attempting to be affectionate, or is he merely doing it to exert more power over him?

He remains compliant as Honma undresses him though, sluggishly raising his hands above his head so the other man can pull off his shirt, and he whimpers softly when Honma does so for the room is uncomfortably cold. He wraps his arms around himself and shivers, although if Honma even notices he doesn't say anything; he just continues to remove Kamiyama's clothes, taking a hold of the waistband of his loose white trousers and yanking them down, pulling them from Kamiyama's legs as he raises his feet. There's no tenderness or love in Honma's movements; he's treating this as just another task to be completed, just another step in his plan towards the realisation of his revenge.

At least, that's what Honma wants to believe. He tries not to stare too long at Kamiyama's naked skin, at the lines and curves of his body; he tries not to look at his pert, firm buttocks, at his beautiful legs, his thighs, his manhood... even when he's not erect his size is apparent, and Honma restrains himself from reaching out to touch between the other man's legs – at least, for now. Annoyed by what he sees as a distraction, Honma gives a low growl and ushers Kamiyama towards one of the showers, bundling him in so he's facing the wall, his bare back towards Honma, his naked backside facing him, those perfect, tight little buttocks in just the right position to be grabbed and parted...

He didn't mean to get excited. That's what Honma keeps telling himself as he moves forward to press his hardening length against Kamiyama's naked backside, his arousal obvious even through his trousers, moaning softly as he does so while his hands start to run eagerly across the skin of the other man's bare back. He didn't mean to get excited, but now that he is, he's going to make use of it. It wasn't just the sight of Kamiyama which wound him up; it wasn't hearing Kamiyama's screams from the cell as he approached it with Yoda-san, it wasn't seeing Kamiyama curled up in a helpless little ball by his bed; it wasn't the physical contact with Kamiyama, feeling the warmth of his body, the softness of his skin, the feel of his breathing, his scent...

It was _all_ of these things. All of them, and more.

Irritated by this realisation – by what he regards as his own weakness – Honma growls as he fumbles with his belt, releasing the buckle with shaking fingers and tugging at the buttons of his trousers to free his arousal so that he can press it against Kamiyama's buttocks. He moans as he does so, the hot, smooth head of his length nudging eagerly at the other man's body, drawing a weak and scared whimper from Kamiyama's throat.

“Honma-san...”

“Stay still, Kamiyama. Do you want to get clean or not?”

But this has nothing to do with getting clean and they both know it, although Kamiyama knows better than to question Honma's authority. He trembles at the feel of the other man's hardness pressing against him, partly from fear of punishment but also from anticipation; there is very little happiness in his life, and when Honma pays him attention between filming each episode of the Quiz Show, it not only breaks up the cold monotony of his existence but also brings him pleasure the likes of which he has never known before. There's a part of him which dreads what might happen next, knowing there will be pain, but at the same time there's a part of him longing to feel Honma inside him again, knowing how it feels to be connected to somebody else, even if only for a short time.

Not even bothering to wait for a reply, Honma leans over with a growl of irritation and turns the shower on, the sudden blast of cold water drawing a cry of painful discomfort and surprise from Kamiyama. He reflexively tries to shift backwards, away from the blast, but Honma grabs him firmly and holds him in place. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find Kamiyama's unhappiness both satisfying and exciting, and he laughs softly to himself at the other man's squirming.

“Not hot enough for you?” Honma smirks, leaning over again and turning the dial slightly so the water will get warmer, although it will take a few moments for the temperature to adjust. He scowls though, because in doing so he manages to get his sleeve wet, and he pulls his arm back with a mutter of annoyance.

This isn't any good. If Honma carries on like this he's just going to get his clothing soaked, and the idea of that irritates him even more. Before he can stop to think about it too much – before he will allow himself to wonder whether it's a good idea or not – he's stepping away from the shower to strip off his jacket and shrug off his shirt, exposing his bare chest, and with a shudder of his own he has to reluctantly admit that Kamiyama was right to complain about how cold it is in here. Thankfully the water of the shower is warming up already, and Kamiyama remains standing where he is, although he is still murmuring softly to himself.

But Honma hasn't finished yet. The arousal which he initially felt at seeing Kamiyama's body has only heightened upon hearing the other man's pained whimpers, and he knows he won't be able to concentrate on the show tonight if his mind is clouded by illicit thoughts of Kamiyama; and so he reaches down to remove his boots before pulling down his trousers and kicking them off, too, a long, low moan escaping his throat as he completely frees his length, shoving his clothes aside with one foot before stepping closer to the shower once more.

It's the first time he's ever been completely naked with Kamiyama. Even when they've coupled before – even when they lay together in Kamiyama's bed for a while – Honma was fully-clothed while Kamiyama wore his shirt, part of his dominance lying in the fact that he stays dressed while Kamiyama must lay himself bare. But now...

“Honma-san...?”

Wondering why the other man is taking so long, Kamiyama turns around slowly, his eyes widening as he sees Honma standing there with nothing on; if the cold water of the shower hadn't kick-started him into fully-conscious awareness, then this sight most certainly would have done. There can be no doubt as to Honma's intentions – he's already felt his hardness against him, and every visit Honma makes to him now ends with some kind of sexual contact – but even so he blushes at the new sight of Honma standing naked behind him, unable to help himself from glancing down to see the man's hard arousal.

“Stay there, Kamiyama.” Honma's expression can only be described as predatory, his voice low and husky, as he moves back into position against the other man, his firm length resting against the curve of Kamiyama's buttocks. He gives a groan, allowing his fingers to reach out for Kamiyama's shoulders, stroking at his skin with a gentleness which seems completely at odds with his threatening behaviour. “You just stay right where you are...”

Then Honma's mouth is pressing against the back of Kamiyama's neck, his fingers moving from his bare shoulders to stroke and caress at his hair, his lips warm and welcome; the water from the shower flows over them both, running in rivulets down their naked skin, soaking their hair and slicking their glistening bodies together. His kisses are soft yet eager, hungry but also delicate; his touch is firm yet gentle, although his hardness remains against Kamiyama's backside, insistent and firm.

Honma's fingers continue to move across Kamiyama's shoulders for a few moments more, moving his hair out of the way so he can kiss at the back of the man's neck, but then they're travelling slowly down his back, following the delicious lines of his body as they make their way towards his waist. Even as he takes hold of Kamiyama's hips, Honma's lips continue to plant kisses across the other man's shoulders, his touch becoming more passionate now, more eager; one hand travels further still, parting Kamiyama's buttocks and allowing him to press himself against Kamiyama's tight entrance, hot and firm.

With a loud gasp, Kamiyama pushes back against Honma's presence there; his head falls back and he gives a wanton moan, indicating his need for what Honma wants to give. He's already placing his hands against the tiles on the wall, bracing himself for what he knows will happen next – but this time he isn't just preparing himself to tolerate it. No, he realises now that he actively welcomes it, his heart beating faster as he waits for Honma to take the lead.

He doesn't have to wait long. Honma is already wound up to frustration, his body taut with sexual tension, his fingers opening Kamiyama further as he pushes forwards with his length. He moves slowly but firmly, the water offering some lubrication as he slides himself inside Kamiyama's entrance, his hardness forcing the muscles to adjust and accept his presence.

“Kamiyama...”

Honma murmurs the other man's name as he enters him, firmly but gently thrusting the first inch of his length inside him, pushing his way inside his tight, hot body and giving him time to adjust to him once more; Kamiyama cries out, giving a pained gasp, although he doesn't attempt to push Honma away. He's learned by now that these couplings can be welcome, that the initial pain gives way to intense moments of pleasure, that at times he actually enjoys knowing how much happiness he can bring Honma by letting him use his body like this... and that he finds his own pleasure in return, when Honma touches him and brings him to completion.

Kamiyama's response is a plaintive whimper of both pain and pleasure, a plea for Honma to do more, to enter him further and give them what they both want; Honma purrs his approval, reading Kamiyama's moan as it was intended, and he shifts his hips forwards with a steady, measured pace, not stopping now until he has completely filled the other man with his hard arousal.

There's a gasp from Kamiyama as Honma buries himself, and he does at least give Kamiyama time to shift and adjust, time for his body to get used to him once more. There's time, too, to savour this new feeling of being completely naked with each other, to feel skin against skin, a new kind of intimacy which neither of them have ever felt before; for Kamiyama it's a reassurance, the warmth of their bodies reflecting the emotional warmth which he is beginning to realise might exist between them. For Honma, it would be a weakness if he weren't in control.

“Are you ready for me, Kamiyama?” he snarls, his hands gripping tightly onto the man's waist, his body already trembling with the lust which he can barely keep in check. “Tell me you're ready...”

“P-please... Honma-san...” Kamiyama pushes backwards with his hips, showing his desire to please, showing his own desire to couple with Honma once more. “I _want_ you...”

Whether Honma actually believes Kamiyama's words or not, the mere fact that he is saying them is enough to make him smile and give a wicked little chuckle. He smirks as he pulls back, almost slipping completely from Kamiyama's body, but then he thrusts forward again, hard and fast, making Kamiyama cry out loudly as he slams back inside him with a growl. Again he stops for a few moments, letting Kamiyama take him, letting him feel him, but then he's pulling back and thrusting forwards again, beginning a slow yet brutal rhythm which brings enjoyment for them both.

Water splashes down about them as Honma increases his pace, his hands holding firmly onto Kamiyama as he begins to pound eagerly into him, their bodies moving together in a delicious meeting of dominant and submissive, of pleasure and pain; it's difficult for Kamiyama to keep his balance as Honma works him harder and harder but he does his best, not wanting to disappoint his partner by collapsing on him, not wanting to risk Honma's wrath by allowing his own weakness to spoil their coupling. If Honma even notices Kamiyama's efforts he says nothing, too busy focusing on his own pleasure to offer Kamiyama any support.

However, even as he bucks and thrusts against the other man, Honma can't help but notice how beautiful he is, even from behind. The way the water runs across his skin, following the shape of his naked body; the way he moves, smooth and sinuous, following his own movements with ease; the way his hair falls about his neck, even when it's soaked through and looking as tousled as it does right now... no, because it's soaked through and looking so tousled. It's a marked change from the way MC Kamiyama looks when he's on stage, well-dressed and perfectly made-up, and Honma realises that he likes both sides to the man – the smart stage persona as well as his true personality, the scared, unkempt boy whom he was kept captive for so long...

 _He's mine._ All _of him. Not just MC Kamiyama, but Kamiyama Satoru as well. I_ own _him._

And with that sudden realisation comes a new, furious burst of passion, Honma's desire to utterly possess and tame all of Kamiyama manifesting itself with a determined series of hard, fast thrusts, each and every one burying his length deep within Kamiyama's body, drawing harsh, desperate cries from Kamiyama's throat.

“Honma! Honma-san! _Honma-san!”_ The pain is not unsurprising, yet still it takes Kamiyama by surprise. He had expected to feel some discomfort, but this is more than he expected to take. Even so he refuses to stop, trying to take Honma as best he can, closing his eyes against the incredible discomfort and thrusting back against the other man with the loudest whimpers and moans he can manage. “Honma-san...”

Hearing Kamiyama say his name like that only heightens Honma's excitement, and he can feel himself already drawing close; he doesn't hold back now for even a single moment, thrusting furiously into Kamiyama's body, burying himself again and again as he feels his body winding tighter and tighter, the heat building between his legs, until that familiar wave of pleasure washes over him and suddenly he's crashing over the edge...

_“Kamiyama!”_

He calls out his partner's name just once, his back arching as he spends his essence inside him, thrusting once, twice, three times in his release; he continues to grip tightly onto Kamiyama as his orgasm takes him, his whole body shuddering with ecstasy, his legs trembling with the effort of staying on his feet. This was what he wanted from the moment he walked into this room; he knows that now. Perhaps Kamiyama knew that even before he did.

The feeling of Honma releasing inside him spurs Kamiyama towards his own climax, and he whines as he continues to push back against his captor. Will Honma even allow him his orgasm? Or will he keep Kamiyama in a state of aroused torture for the rest of the evening, forcing him to film the show whilst frustrated and unfulfilled? The mere thought of such a thing fills Kamiyama with dread, and he opens his mouth to beg and plead with Honma, to utterly humble himself in his need for completion... but this time, at least, Honma seems to show some mercy. Before he can even utter a single word he feels Honma's hand sliding its way between his thighs, his fingers closing about his own length, starting to stroke and touch at him firmly yet gently.

“You want it,” Honma breathes huskily, his forehead now resting against Kamiyama's shoulder, his body still shaking. It's not a question. “Don't say I never give you anything...”

Kamiyama's reply is a low murmur of acknowledgement, confirmation that Honma is right, that he wants him... _needs_ him... perhaps even more than Honma could know. He whimpers and bucks into Honma's hand, savouring this closeness which they share, the physical intimacy which will be gone all too soon; he tries not to focus on that, but instead on the feel of Honma's long fingers pleasuring and exciting him, on his length still buried deep within his body, on the mess he can already feel leaking from his tight entrance to leave a sticky, messy trail down his legs, even though the water of the shower is already begin to wash it away.

“Honma-san...” He finds that he actually is genuinely grateful for Honma's affections, eager for his release, even feeling a surge of affection and joy that it's Honma pleasing him like this; he whimpers his desire as he moves against the other man, feeling his own climax building within him, his length firm and hard and throbbing within Honma's grip. He's close himself, although even as he works towards his orgasm he can't help but worry that Honma will suddenly stop out of spite, that even this small moment of happiness can't last, that he doesn't deserve to feel pleasure such as this – but his fears are unfounded, at least this time. Honma continues to slide his fingers over Kamiyama's length, his pace getting more eager, more determined, faster and faster until...

“Honma-san! Honma! _Honma!”_

Kamiyama hits his climax loudly and intensely, almost collapsing as the pleasure takes him; he shudders and trembles, shooting his essence messily against the tiles, staining Honma's fingers with his mess as he bucks and moans and cries out his release. Panting and gasping he falls forward, resting his forehead against the wall, whimpering helplessly as Honma finally lets go of him with a triumphant laugh.

“Good boy...”

They stay this way for a few moments, Honma collapsed against Kamiyama's back, his length still buried deep inside him although it's starting to lose its hardness; he begins to kiss at Kamiyama's shoulders again, his lips warm against his bare, wet skin, his fingers touching almost lovingly at his waist. There's a certain satisfaction to be had from bringing Kamiyama to his orgasm, a feeling of power and control knowing that he is the one responsible for his pleasure... or the denial of it. He smiles to himself, nuzzling Kamiyama gently, even sliding his arms around Kamiyama's waist to hold himself close against him in the semblance of a lovers' embrace.

“Misaki...” 

Honma freezes suddenly. Did Kamiyama just say _her_ name...?

“Misaki...”

Yes. Yes, he _did._ Honma's eyes narrow and he gives a low snarl, his whole body tensing despite the warmth which suffuses him from their frantic coupling. Is Kamiyama mocking him? Is he wishing it were Misaki's arms around him, and not Honma's? Is that why---

“Misaki...”

But before Honma can punish Kamiyama for what he sees as an unforgiveable slight, the other man suddenly collapses onto the floor of the shower, trembling uncontrollably as he slips from Honma's arms to curl up on the tiles, shivering and starting to weep.

_“Misaki!”_

He can feel the rain pelting down, feel the water running over his skin, feel his wet hair clinging to his face. He can feel his hands, slick with both water and blood, feel the cold metal beneath his fingers; he can see her now, see her body lying motionless at his feet. He can see the blood, smell the rain, taste the water running into his mouth... he can hear footsteps getting closer, somebody approaching him, and he turns around to see---

_SMACK._

There's a loud slap as Honma's hand comes down hard against Kamiyama's cheek, the sudden pain shocking him into silence, if not normal consciousness; he looks up at Honma as if seeing him for the first time, as if a haze is only now lifting to reveal Honma's presence, although Kamiyama seems no less terrified because of it. Honma says nothing, although he really doesn't need to; his expression is enough to indicate his fury, the rise and fall of his shoulders betraying his barely-suppressed rage. Without a word he leans over and turns off the shower, the sudden absence of warm water flowing over Kamiyama's skin leaving him feeling more cold and exposed than ever.

 _It felt like the rain. The rain by the lake. The lake where I... where Misaki..._ Kamiyama chokes down another sob. _That's why... that's why I remembered..._

“I'm s-sorry, Honma-san...” Kamiyama draws himself into an even tighter ball, fearing more violence from Honma, fearing his fists. He knows that those hands which can be so gentle and loving can also be so unforgiving and cruel. “I'm sorry... I didn't want to...”

“Just get up.” Now Honma moves and speaks, grabbing roughly at Kamiyama's shoulders and forcibly hauling him to his feet, shoving him against the wall with a snarl. Why did Kamiyama have to choose _that_ moment to suddenly start remembering? Of course Honma wants him to know the truth, eventually – but when he wants him to, not of his own volition. “Oh, you'll know the truth well enough, Kamiyama. I'll make sure of _that._ "

Honma shoves him towards the benches with a sneer and Kamiyama stumbles towards the towels, barely even able to hold himself up as he starts to dry himself; Honma is far more composed, quickly drying his hair then the rest of his body, wasting no time in pulling on his clothes. Perhaps in future it might be entertaining to taunt Kamiyama with his nakedness, but there's no time for such things now. Not only that, but he's still furious that Kamiyama would ruin the mood by having such a badly-timed breakdown, and his anger shows as he starts to help Kamiyama put on his own clothes, his white shirt and his black tuxedo, not even caring now that they don't look as neat as they should. The pre-production and make-up team at the television studio can worry about that. After all, that's what they're there for.

...even so, that doesn't stop him from taking a moment to appreciate how good Kamiyama looks, even with his wet hair still a complete mess and his stage costume looking somewhat crumpled and unkempt.

_And after the show, I get to undress him again if I want to. And I already know that I will._

That knowledge keeps Honma's mood in check, at least for now, although all semblance of affection has vanished. His passion having been spent, Honma's cold determination and need for revenge has cooled his lust for the present, although he knows it will surface again later. Filming the Quiz Show always does excite him, and it's better now that he has someone to take out his frustrations on. But that will have to wait for later.

When Honma opens the door of the shower room, Yoda-san is already waiting outside, as calm and as patient as ever. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of Honma's wet hair – it's obvious that he, too, has showered – but he says nothing, for it is not his place to judge or comment on what Honma Toshio decides to do.

“He's ready.” Honma practically shoves Kamiyama into Yoda-san's arms. “Let's go.”


	5. 16th May, 2009 - After The Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Again, the very beginning of this chapter is taken from the scene at the end of Episode 5, but I wanted to go deeper into how Honma and Kamiyama are feeling during the exchange - plus it's a pretty important moment for Kamiyama recalling his memories, so I wanted to keep it in.))

Again, the show has been a successful one; it has brought great pleasure to Honma Toshio to see the supposedly god-like surgeon, Tomobe Koichiro, broken and humiliated, his career ripped apart and torn into tattered shreds. The man deserves it, he tells himself. After all, if it weren't for people like him – people who treat others differently depending on how it suits them – then perhaps Misaki would still be alive. If she hadn't had to wait for treatment...

_But she did. And because of that, she slipped into a coma. And because she slipped into a coma, Kamiyama..._

He barely manages to suppress a growl as he makes his way onto the studio floor where Kamiyama is still waiting. The rest of the crew have left now, having gone off to do whatever it is they do after filming an episode; Honma doesn't know, because he never goes with them. He doesn't have time for petty small talk and pointless conversations about the ins and outs of their day-to-day lives. None of that interests him, because none of it involves his revenge. By the time he reaches the stage where Kamiyama is sat, the man is sitting alone, trembling, and he suddenly gives a start as Honma approaches. 

_He's upset about something. Good. I need to see him suffer._

His expression of superior indifference does not change as he comes to stand over Kamiyama, showing no sympathy whatsoever for the man's clearly traumatised state. There is a question which he needs answered, and he does not care how much anguish it may cause the man to answer it.

“Why?” Honma's tone of voice remains cold and distant. “Why did you slap Tomobe?”

It's several seconds before Kamiyama replies; several seconds in which he twitches and shakes, his whole body practically convulsing from the effort of trying to find a reply.

“I don't know...” Kamiyama forces out the words, but his torment only serves to please Honma who is unable to keep the hint of a satisfied smirk from his face. “Honma-san... I.. I saw her... Misaki... covered in blood...”

The smile which has been pulling at the corners of Honma's mouth immediately disappears, replaced by an ice-cold contempt. Kamiyama is evidently distraught, the effort of calling forth such memories combined with the shock of their implications clearly shaking him to the core, but Honma continues to show no consideration whatsoever as the other man falls apart right in front of him.

“But... somebody else was there too, Honma-san... _you...”_

Honma remains silent as Kamiyama continues to speak, curious to see just how much he can remember. Just how much he can risk giving away.

“Just what _happened_ to us...?”

_Us. He remembers us._

“Who _are_ you?”

The silence between them echoes loudly, the weight of Kamiyama's revelations bearing down heavily upon them both, and for a few moments neither of them speak. It's not that Kamiyama is expecting an answer – he knows Honma better by now than to think that the man will suddenly spill all of his secrets. But by asking about their past, their _shared_ past, it's a small act of defiance which indicates he is capable of acting outside of Honma's overbearing influence, and that he is perhaps finally able to think for himself.

Honma, however, realises this too, and the implications are less than satisfactory. Oh yes, he fully intends the guests to stir up memories for Kamiyama, but it seems his selection of Tomobe has been more effective than he would have thought. Seeing the doctor again has broken down more of Kamiyama's mental barriers than he would have liked.

_No. This is too much, too soon. Kamiyama doesn't get an answer from me. Not yet._

Anger surges up within him at the realisation that Kamiyama has been able to unlock some of his own secrets. He is angry at Kamiyama for being able to summon up a memory of him without being directly prompted, and angry at himself for failing to foresee such a thing occurring. Their encounter the previous week in which Kamiyama remembered Misaki should have been ample warning that such a thing could happen; he should have foreseen that the walls keeping Kamiyama's past in check are beginning to crumble. As it is, Honma deals with his rage in the only way he really knows how – by proving his dominance over Kamiyama in the most physical way possible.

He suddenly grabs hold of Kamiyama's jacket – his fingers digging into the lapels, trimmed as they are with glittery black sequins – and shoves him towards the nearest wall, flimsy though it may be. The set is not the sturdiest and totters slightly, but it holds, even when Honma slams Kamiyama against it, snarling into his face.

“What _else_ do you remember, Kamiyama?” Honma's voice is a dangerous growl, his words heavy with barely-concealed threat. “What _else_ do you remember about me? About Misaki?”

“Honma-san!” Kamiyama whimpers the man's name as a plea, begging for him not to hurt him. “Please, Honma-san! _Please!_ I don't... I don't remember anything else... please...”

“You must remember _something!”_ The other man refuses to back off, hissing his displeasure. “Where were we? What were we doing? How do you know me?”

“I don't know!” Kamiyama is practically beginning to sob now. “I don't _know!_ There was... there was a lake, and blood, and... school... there was a school...”

“What _kind_ of school? Where was the lake?”

 _“I don't know!”_ He begins to openly weep, not even ashamed of his despair any more. After all, what does he have left to be ashamed of? Honma holds everything, his innocence as well as his memories. What else does he have left to lose? _“Please,_ Honma-san! I don't remember...”

Perhaps he finally realises that Kamiyama is speaking the truth; perhaps he genuinely relents after seeing the man crying. Either way, Honma relaxes his grip although he doesn't release his hold on Kamiyama completely, still keeping him pressed against the wall of the set with a look of stormy anger upon his face.

“So you really _don't_ remember huh?” Honma gives a disdainful sneer, then smiles. “Well, then. Looks like you will still need my help after all... _won't_ you?”

Shaken and upset, Kamiyama merely nods in assent.

“Good.”

He's not sure when it happened – presumably at some point while he was shouting at him – but somehow Honma's hand has found its way towards Kamiyama's crotch and is now cupping him through his trousers, stroking at his length, feeling him through the flimsy material. He glances down and smiles, suddenly aware of quite how aroused it's making him feel.

“Kamiyama....” His fingers find the shape of the other man's body, closing around him, and his grip tightens as he begins to make him go hard. “You know what I want _now,_ don't you...?”

“Y-yes... Honma-san...” Kamiyama feels his cheeks burn bright red, feels his body beginning to respond to Honma's actions, his length growing firm as the man's hand touches more insistently at him. He knows exactly what Honma wants; it's the same thing he's wanted from him every week now since the Quiz Show has gone on air. And even though goes against all logic - even though Honma has just screamed and him and belittled him, even though Honma is clearly witholding the truth – it shames him to realise that he wants it, too. “Please...”

“Oh, so you want it now as well?” Honma laughs, a wicked little chuckle, and suddenly draws his hand away. He doesn't doubt that Kamiyama has enjoyed their previous couplings – at least some of them, anyway. But hearing the man actually voice his desire, that's something else entirely, for now it gives him even more power. “Maybe I should make you beg for it, then...”

“No!” Kamiyama cries out but falls quiet again, fearing Honma's wrath – but the man is not angry. If anything he is amused, very pleased to see how eager Kamiyama is for his touch. “No...”

“No, you don't want it? Or no, you don't want to beg for it?”

“I... I want it...” Somehow, he finds his voice; although it's the truth it's hard to say it, but then again, sometimes the truth can be the most difficult thing of all. “I want it now... I don't want to have to wait...”

“Of course you don't.” Honma leans in close again, this time pressing his lips against Kamiyama's neck, brushing them over his bare skin with a low moan. “So impatient, Kamiyama... so eager to have everything...”

Honma allows his hands to find their way back down to Kamiyama's crotch, this time finding him hard and ready, almost fully-erect; and this time he allows his hand to slide down inside the waistband of Kamiyama's trousers, brushing his fingers across the hot, smooth tip, taking a hold of him and beginning to stroke.

“Honma-san...” Kamiyama is unable to suppress the whimper which escapes his lips, nor can he stop himself from bucking forwards into the man's hand. His dismay at yearning for Honma's touch still lingers, but it has been overwritten by his need for the man; the physical contact is something which he longs for when he sits alone in his cell, the feel of somebody else's body against his own – the feel of _Honma's_ body against him, _Honma's_ hands touching him, _Honma_ moving inside him and bringing him pleasure which he never would have imagined. “I'm ready...”

“Not yet you're not.” With a soft laugh Honma takes his hand away again, but this time it's to help undress the other man; his hands are steady as he unbuttons Kamiyama's trousers, the two of them hurriedly hitching them down to free his firm length, which Honma takes into his hand once more. “Better...”

And with his other hand he fumbles with his belt buckle and the buttons of his jeans, releasing himself, his own excitement hard and ready; then he shifts himself forward so that his arousal brushes against Kamiyama's own, shuddering with anticipation when he does so. He can't keep from smiling now, his enjoyment plainly written on his face, and he continues to smirk wickedly as he takes a firm hold of the other man's thighs.

“I'm going to need your help here,” he murmurs, desire already making his voice husky and raw. “Do as I tell you, Kamiyama, and I'll make it worth your while...”

As he so often does with Honma, Kamiyama merely nods and obeys, his own arousal meaning he is even more willing to do as he's told in order to reach his release. He whimpers softly when Honma instructs him to wrap his arms around his neck, his legs around Honma's waist, and despite his slight frame Honma is able to hoist Kamiyama against the wall, his own body keeping him pressed against it while Kamiyama grips tightly onto him. Honma's breathing is shallow and ragged not only from the strain of lifting the other man, but also from his own excitement.

“There we go... that wasn't so bad, was it?” he grins, deliberately making sure that the head of his length now presses against Kamiyama's entrance, making sure that the man's body is angled to as to give him easy access. _“Now_ you're ready...”

With a moan born of sheer need Honma leans down and allows a dribble of his own spittle to land on his hardness, slicking himself up for what is to happen next; satisfied that he is now slicked up enough he pushes forwards, thrusting into Kamiyama with a purr of lust, both surprised and pleased at just how easily he can slip inside him.

“Kamiyama....” he groans loudly, filling him, lowering Kamiyama down until his length is completely enclosed within the man's flesh; he stills himself for a moment, allowing Kamiyama's body to readjust to the feel of him, and he leans in close against the man's neck, his breath hot on his skin as he begins to move inside him. “Does that feel good, Kamiyama...?”

Kamiyama's response is merely a muffled cry, a soft moan, although he manages to nod his head in affirmation. Yes, it does feel good. It feels good to be held, to be physically close to someone like this; it feels good to be so close to Honma, so close to the man who holds the keys to his past. Not only that, but the way in which Honma touches him is starting to bring him the greatest pleasure, the greatest release, and he is learning how best to respond in order to please them both. 

“Honma-san....” Kamiyama closes his eyes and he breathes his partner's name, allowing his body to submit to his affections, no matter how selfish and brutal they might be. He does his best to move in time with Honma's thrusting, his hips moving in wide circles around his partner's length, clenching his muscles as tightly as he can to give Honma the greatest pleasure that he can. “Honma...”

Honma groans in turn, letting Kamiyama know just how much he is enjoying himself by loudly announcing his desire, voicing his need in a series of raw, wanton moans; he thrusts harder, deeper, burying himself within his partner's body, drawing pained cries from Kamiyama which soon become helpless whimpers drawn from the very edge of ecstasy. Although gentle at first he becomes more rough now, sensing that Kamiyama is ready for him to lose control, sensing that his body is relaxed enough to take him.

His movements become more desperate, more primal, as Honma works towards his orgasm, his length pounding into Kamiyama now, both of them calling out as he buries himself within him, again and again; their moans echo throughout the empty studio, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh mingling with their cries, so lost are they within their lust that even if the crew did return, they would not be able to stop. Kamiyama feels himself drawing near first, his body growing taut and tense, his muscles tight as he winds closer and closer to his climax; his fingers dig into the black leather of his coat, his eyes fixed on the man's face as he pounds mercilessly into him, focusing on the feel of being held and cherished, focusing on the knowledge that Honma wants him, perhaps even needs him, and-

“Honma-san!”

His world becomes a blur as he hits his release, his back suddenly arching as pleasure takes him, spilling himself wildly, messily, over his jacket as well as Honma's clothes; he clings on to the other man more tightly than ever, riding out his orgasm, feeling his partner deep inside him with every movement that he makes.

Seeing Kamiyama reach his peak right in front of him – feeling his body grow tight, feeling him shudder and tremble – only spurs Honma closer to his own release and he thrusts now more eagerly than ever, the heat growing between his own legs as he edges towards his own climax, panting and gasping, moaning his pleasure, desperate for his own climax, until...

“Kamiyama!” 

Now it's his turn to shudder and whine as he releases inside Kamiyama's body, filling him, pounding his essence deep inside the other man as they both moan and cry out their pleasure; he thrusts once more, a final time, before he pulls back and slips his length from inside Kamiyama, bringing with it a sticky, creamy trail of his own mess.

“Kamiyama...”

Having spent himself inside his partner, having felt Kamiyama's own body respond in turn, Honma slowly lowers the other man's legs back down to the floor, both of their bodies trembling and shivering from the exertion of their passion. When his feet hit the ground Kamiyama practically collapses, his legs weak, and he sits down with his back leaning against the set for support, his head falling back while he shakily regains his breath. Honma, meanwhile, reaches out to steady himself against the same wall, leaning over the other man, and he gazes down at him fondly, managing a smile which borders dangerously on the affectionate. With his free hand he reaches into a pocket and draws out a tissue, slowly wiping himself off and then using both hands to tuck himself back into his trousers; it's only then that he realises Kamiyama's own trousers are still lying on the floor, and he kicks them over to where the man is still sitting.

“You should get dressed.”

“Honma...” Kamiyama doesn't seem to notice that Honma is pushing his clothes towards him. Instead he seems to be regressing back to his dazed state, similar to how he was when Honma first found him on the stage this evening. “Honma-san...?”

“What?”

“When you knew me before, did... did we...”

“Did we what?” Honma narrows his eyes, anticipating Kamiyama's question but deciding to allow it anyway. It's as though he knows somehow what the man will ask, but he wants to hear the words spoken, the idea brought forth. "Did we..."

“Did you _want_ me... back then?” 

Somehow Kamiyama manages to blurt out the words, even knowing that to do so will most likely cause him to suffer; but this time, the other man is too lost in his own thoughts to become angry again. Honma's eyes widen, partly in surprise at Kamiyama's newfound audacity, but also at the question itself although he knew that it would be coming. Did he ever see Kamiyama as more than just a friend? He saw him as a rival, certainly; a rival in his pursuit of Misaki's affections, an enemy trying to win the heart of the girl he loved – and then breaking it. But as for whether he felt anything more for Kamiyama back then...

…and now it's Honma Toshio's turn to remember. He recalls staying up late together and taking for hours, discussing their hopes and fears for the future. He remembers the time when they actually opened up to each other and talked about how it felt to grow up without a father; the loneliness, the self-doubt, the uncertainty. He remembers his fear of losing his precious Misaki to Kamiyama Satoru... of losing Kamiyama Satoru to Misaki...

“No.” Honma's response is final, and he quickly closes the doors on the emotions which threaten to make their way to the surface, smothering any semblance of affection. “Come on, Kamiyama. We need to get you back to your room.” 

He closes a hand on Kamiyama's shoulder, firm but not rough, and starts to haul him back to his feet, also picking up the man's trousers and shoving them towards him in an untidy bundle; it takes a few moments for him to dress himself, seeing as he is still shaking and he can barely stand. How much of this is due to his trauma and how much is due to the his physical exertions, Honma doesn't know - and more importantly, he doesn't care. As if on cue, Yoda-san enters the studio just as Kamiyama finishes making himself look presentable, bowing politely to the two men and walking over to offer Kamiyama his support.

"Are you finished here tonight?" he asks Honma, casting a sideways glance towards Kamiyama as he does so.

"Yeah. We're done." Honma smirks, also allowing his eyes to rake over Kamiyama's body. "At least... for _now."_


	6. 23rd May, 2009 - After The Show

Although he would never admit it, Honma Toshio is afraid.

He almost lost everything tonight. It almost all fell apart. Not just his control of the show but his hold over Saejima, the life of her daughter Minori - one of his most valuable playing pieces, although Saejima doesn’t know it yet - and… _Kamiyama._ What would Honma have done if it had been Kamiyama and not Minori who had been kidnapped? What would he have done if it had been Kamiyama whose life had been threatened instead? Would he still have been able to keep his cool and resolve the situation?

_No, he tells himself, stop thinking like that. I would never have let that happen. I would never have been so foolish as to let somebody take him away from me._

But he _had_ lost control. For all his seemingly calm facade, Honma’s heart had been racing in his chest when he’d realised their contestant, Katsuragi Makoto, had been playing games with him. At first he’d been furious; how dare the man mock him like that? How _dare_ he think that he was better than Honma and his staff, that he could so easily throw the TV station into chaos? Honma’s smug assessment of Saejima following the show had been an assertion of his superiority, as much as anything else. He’d taken out his insecurities on her, even if she hadn’t realised it.

And then there had been the unexpected appearance of the Yamanobe Kengo, the producer of the previous Quiz Show. How arrogant of him to approach Honma like that and tell him he didn’t even know how to run his own show! No, Honma knows _exactly_ what he’s doing and exactly why he’s doing it, and he won’t let the opinionated words of some has-been producer sway him from his path. 

Still, Honma is not taking any chances. Katsuragi's actions have shaken him more than he first realised, and that’s why he’s done the one thing tonight that he never thought he’d do; he has brought Kamiyama Satoru into his home. Having initially deposited Kamiyama back into his cell, his meeting with Yamanobe had further angered and upset him and - with Yoda-san’s help, of course - Honma has bundled Kamiyama into the back of a car and had him brought back to the small, one-bedroom apartment in which he has lived alone for several years now. Here, he knows that Kamiyama will be safe. Here, he is under his complete control.

Honma’s living space is almost bare in its austerity, perhaps reflecting the cold, precise focus of his mind. A short, compact hallway leads through to what serves as a kitchen and lounge, tatami mats on the floor along with a couple of rugs which add little warmth but at least provide some comfort for bare feet. Stark, white shelves hold a bizarre collection of books on a wide range of topics covering everything from aviation to medicine, astrology to economics; a TV stands on a small side-table in front of a black sofa, a small collection of DVDs to one side which look as though they are rarely, if ever, watched. The kitchen is more of a cubbyhole than a separate room, and it, too, does not appear to have seen much use, although it is far from dirty. What little food Honma does prepare is eaten alone, and he is not one to tolerate mess.

As for the bedroom, it’s not somewhere Honma spends much time other than to sleep. The bed is flanked by a small table upon which stands a lamp, a bottle of water and a half-read book on independent journalism; there’s also a box of tissues and a tube of some kind of lotion, evidence that he does plenty of thinking about Kamiyama when he’s on his own. Despite his loneliness, however, Honma’s bed is big enough for two, and that’s where the two men are now, sitting on the edge of it together, Honma practically cradling Kamiyama in his arms.

_I almost lost you once. I’m not going to lose you again._

Honma chides himself for allowing such a sickly-sweet sentiment to cross his mind, but he cannot deny that holding Kamiyama like this gives him some feeling of comfort. Reassurance that his plans are still on track, perhaps? Or maybe he is just finding some relief from the knowledge that Kamiyama is still _his,_ belonging to him like a favourite possession or a treasured pet. Certainly there can’t be any deeper feelings involved. There just _can’t._ Because if he found himself somehow falling in love with Kamiyama Satoru, then...

It’s because he’s valuable. Yes, that must be it. Kamiyama is an asset, a means to an end, his revenge. He’s not a person, he’s a commodity; a valuable commodity which sells TV magazines and boosts ratings, and he has to keep his commodities safe.

“Honma-san?”

“Hmm?”

Kamiyama’s voice stirs Honma from his thoughts; his tone soft, almost apologetic.

“Honma-san…” Kamiyama bites his lip, still sounding a little afraid. “Please, I… that tickles.”

It’s only now that Honma realises what his hands are doing; he has one arm wrapped about Kamiyama’s waist, holding him against him, whilst the fingers of his other hand are tracing lazy patterns across his forearm. Kamiyama is still dressed in the white clothes of his confinement, the thin material not doing much to soften Honma’s touch, whilst Honma remains wearing the same black clothes which he put on for tonight’s filming, leather jacket and all.

“I’ll stop.” 

And he does, pulling his hand away from Kamiyama’s arm with a final, gentle stroke. He can’t recall ever being so tender with the man before, but… something about tonight just feels _different._

“D-don’t stop touching me.”

“Huh?”

“Please, Honma-san. Please. Don’t stop.” And Honma isn’t the only one feeling a change this evening. There’s something more bold in Kamiyama’s statements, despite the way he sounds so timid. “Touch me…”

Not that Honma is complaining, of course. Hasn’t part of his plan been to groom Kamiyama so that the man is eager for his touch, so that he can torment him with affection? No, perhaps it wasn’t part of his _original_ design, but… ah. It can’t hurt to take advantage of it now. Whatever the reason, whatever his intentions, it certainly brings Honma pleasure to hear Kamiyama pleading with him like this.

“And what will you do if I don’t?” Honma responds cockily, sarcastically, pushing down the inexplicable urge which rises inside him to silence Kamiyama with a kiss. No doubt there will be a kiss to follow, but not until he’s had a chance to mock the other man and put him in his place. “Will you whine at me, Kamiyama? Will you cry? Or will you just sit there and make those big puppy-dog eyes at me, hoping to make me change my mind?”

Kamiyama responds by just clinging even more tightly onto Honma, his fingers bunching into the leather of the man’s jacket. He’s coherent, albeit somewhat confused; the journey here from his cell has jolted him into lucidity, his mind aware that something very much out of the ordinary is happening. His only escape from the cell over the past two years has been for rehearsals, for filming shows or for doing publicity shoots, and never before has Honma treated him quite like this. There’s something surprisingly intimate about being in Honma’s own bed for once, and Kamiyama doesn’t know what to make of it. The one thing he can be sure of is that he welcomes the physical connection between them right now, the way that Honma seems almost playful rather than cruel.

“Or perhaps you want me to touch you somewhere else?” Honma smirks, allowing his free hand to wander along Kamiyama’s outer thigh. “Is _that_ what you want?”

“I… I just…” 

Kamiyama attempts to find his words, too timid to try and risk expressing how he really feels at this moment. The filming of tonight’s show had scared him, too; for all that he had, like Honma, kept a steady appearance in front of the cameras, he had been alone on stage with a man threatening to end the life of an innocent child. Much as Kamiyama has faith in Honma’s abilities as a producer, much as they have managed to work together as a team in the two years of his life that Kamiyama can remember, it had been horrifying trying to hold things together on live television as Honma had attempted to regain control behind the scenes. It had taken all his strength of will for Kamiyama to improvise the question which had led to them rescuing Minori, and Kamiyama needs this physical affection now just as much as Honma does, if not more so. It’s not just affection which he feels, either; there’s excitement too, the arousal which seems to keep rising whenever he is close to Honma, the need to touch and be touched, to find his relief in servicing the other man, to submit and to please...

“Yes… I want it somewhere else...”

It’s exactly what Honma wants to hear and he takes great pleasure in taunting Kamiyama by running his fingers slowly along his leg, touching him through the fabric of his trousers, smirking when his hand strays dangerously close to the bulge which is growing between Kamiyama’s legs.

“Good.”

Honma laughs softly, deliberately brushing the back of his hand across the visible hardness of Kamiyama’s crotch before hooking a finger into the waistband of the man’s trousers and beginning to pull them downwards. Kamiyama whimpers - a plaintive, submissive whimper, leaving Honma in no doubt that he’s just as eager for this as he is - and shifts his hips to give Honma better access to his body, helping him to hitch down his trousers until he can kick them off and leave them lying on the floor. His lower half is naked now and he blushes, biting his lip, even though they have been naked together before; it feels different because they’re in a far more intimate setting than the bare, harsh confines of his cell, touching each other on a proper bed rather than the one he is used to sleeping on. In that sense, Kamiyama almost feels like a shy girl undressing for her boyfriend for the first time.

And Honma _loves_ it. The evening’s events may have left him feeling unsettled but he’s definitely back in control now, pushing Kamiyama down onto the bed and already stripping him of his top as well as his trousers; there’s a growing hardness in Honma’s crotch too, and Kamiyama whines when Honma leans over him, the excitement within Honma’s trousers brushing against his leg.

“Oh, stop complaining, Kamiyama! I haven’t even _started_ yet!”

But that’s exactly why Kamiyama _is_ complaining; his body is already trembling with desire, his every nerve-ending feeling as though it burns with sheer _need._

“You’re so impatient.” Honma grins wickedly, running a hand along Kamiyama’s inner thigh. “So spoilt.”

God, he thinks as he torments the other man, when did Kamiyama start looking so damned _good?_ It had been one thing to make Kamiyama submit to his will in his cell, but having him here, ready, in his own bed… Honma is going to make sure that their time tonight isn’t wasted.

After making sure that Kamiyama is lying back amongst the pillows, Honma shuffles himself down the bed and gets comfortable beside his crotch, his fingers now travelling across the expanse of skin between Kamiyama’s bellybutton and the thin layer of hair which surrounds his stiff length. It’s the first time he’s ever really looked at him like this; oh yes, he’s already handled him several times before, but he’s never really paid much attention to what he was playing with. Now that he takes the time to actually look at it, though, Kamiyama’s manhood is beautiful. It stands proudly between his legs, several inches of hot, firm flesh, the skin smooth and warm beneath his touch. Honma brushes his fingertips against it, closes his hand about it and squeezes gently, leaning his head over towards Kamiyama’s inner thighs.

His tongue finds the most sensitive spots around the base of Kamiyama’s arousal, his mouth pressing and teasing at his skin, licking at the place where his excitement juts forth from his body; he moans loudly, hungrily, savouring the other man’s taste as he experiences it for the first time, a shiver of pleasure running down his spine at the high-pitched, wanton groans escaping Kamiyama’s throat. 

“Honma-san…”

Kamiyama dares to touch at the man’s hair, his fingers grasping feebly at the dark strands atop Honma’s head, wanting to pull him closer, to beg for more. He’s almost surprised when Honma doesn’t stop him and he bucks his hips forwards, daring to hope that the man’s mouth will find its way further along his length, closing his eyes and imagining the feel of those soft, full lips brushing against his sex…

He isn’t to be disappointed. Kamiyama is not the only one whose body is trembling with anticipation, whose nerve-endings are aflame with desire. Breathing in Kamiyama’s musky scent, Honma continues to kiss at the man’s flesh, his mouth playing at the base of his cock, his lips tracing their way further upwards, slowly but gently, until he reaches the head; there he pauses, glancing up at Kamiyama with a look which manages to be both predatory yet filled with adoration at the same time. He smiles, allowing his tongue to flick out and swipe up the bead of moisture which has formed at the tip of Kamiyama’s length - and then his mouth is closing about the head, swallowing it, taking the first inch of him between his lips with a loud, eager moan.

It’s the first time Honma has ever done anything like this. It’s not something he would even have considered before now - at least, not before he first coupled with Kamiyama on the bed in his cell. But having the man here, in his own bed… seeing his naked body helpless and ready for him, knowing the delicious sounds he makes when he reaches his release, breathing in the scent of his skin, the soft touch of his hair… Honma finds himself unable to resist, eager to touch and taste, to fully know Kamiyama in every way possible.

As for Kamiyama, it’s a feeling like nothing else he has ever experienced before. He’s had Honma’s fingers around him, of course; he’s played with himself once or twice, and he’s reached his completion beneath the other man’s touch. But to have his length buried within such deep, wet heat - to have his skin pressing against warm, slick flesh, to feel the vibrations of Honma’s moans throughout his entire body - he’s already dangerously close to hitting his climax already, and even as the other man begins to slide his mouth further down around him, Kamiyama has to make a conscious effort to control himself in case he finishes before Honma has barely begun.

Kamiyama’s fingers tangle further within Honma’s hair, drawing him further down around him; he pushes his hips upwards to meet the man’s lips, matching his pace, careful not to go too fast and cause Honma any discomfort. He knows now what it feels like to pleasure another man like this, and he takes care not to anger Honma by being too rough, too eager. For Honma, he is quickly discovering that this is another way to take control - that he can rule Kamiyama in whatever way he wants to, draw out desperate cries from his throat by suddenly sucking hard on his flesh, make his gasp and whimper by threatening to press too hard with his teeth, bring a shudder of excitement by lapping his tongue against the underside of his length...

“Honma-san…” Kamiyama breathes his name tenderly, his hips moving in slow circles, more trickles of his essence leaking from his manhood to stain Honma’s hungry tongue. “Honma-san… th-thank you… yes… _Honma-san…”_

But Honma pulls away quickly, suddenly, drawing a cry of dismay from Kamiyama as he feels the loss of his partner’s mouth; Honma sits up, smirking, swallowing down the lingering taste of Kamiyama’s body as he settles in a kneeling position between his legs.

“You didn’t think it was going to be _that_ easy, did you?” he laughs, shrugging off his jacket, his shirt following soon after to join the pile of their clothes on the bedroom floor. That done he begins to fiddle with the buttons of his jeans, although the fact that his hands are beginning to shake makes the task somewhat difficult. “If you _really_ want me, Kamiyama… you’ll have to beg…”

Not that it looks like Kamiyama will be kept waiting. It’s obvious that Honma wants him - _needs_ him - but even so, Kamiyama knows better than to disobey a direct request. Stifling a moan he squirms and glances up at Honma’s face, only to look away again as his cheeks blush a deep shade of red.

“I want you…”

“Say it like you mean it.”

Now it’s Kamiyama’s turn to consider just how alluring the other man looks. Honma is kneeling over him, topless, his pale skin a beautiful contrast to the dark shades of his hair, the deep brown of his eyes; he glances at his crotch as he manages to free himself from his trousers, his excitement just as firm as Kamiyama’s own, his jeans falling away to reveal the perfection of his naked body.

“I _want_ you, Honma-san… please…”

And Kamiyama really _does_ mean it, his words catching in his throat as Honma shifts closer, reaching over for the bottle of lotion on his bedside table and coating his fingers with a generous amount of the stuff before beginning to slick his hardness with it. It’s not only his arousal which he touches, either; his fingers slide down to find the tight, hot entrance to Kamiyama’s body, the cold lotion causing him to cry out, the sensation of his hand pressing there pushing him even closer to his imminent climax.

“I want you… I _need_ you…”

“Oh, you’ll get me.” 

Honma, too, is eager for their bodies to meet and become one, but he forces himself to hold back for just a few more moments - just long enough to position himself so that the head of his length pushes insistently against Kamiyama’s tightness, just long enough to take hold of the other man’s thighs and lift them up, angling his body for a better thrust - and then he pushes forwards, his voice thick and heavy with lust, a low growl tearing at his words. 

“You _need_ me…”

He slips inside Kamiyama so easily, filling him with a single thrust, slow and gentle; Kamiyama responds with a moan of his own, his fingers tangling within the bedsheets, his hips bucking upwards once more to meet Honma’s body. The man is actually smiling down at him, without a hint of cruelty or malice. It’s unusual enough for Kamiyama to expect some kind of a trap, but when Honma begins to move inside him, all thoughts of danger are completely abandoned in favour of sheer, ecstatic bliss.

They move together at a leisurely pace, both of them shifting slightly so that Honma can fill Kamiyama as much as he possibly can. His thrusts are sure and determined, eager yet unhurried, and he leans down over his partner to plant a row of soft little kisses along Kamiyama’s jawline, cradling his cheek in one hand as he does so; his lips find Kamiyama's own and he presses them together, his tongue snaking between them, sharing the musk of Kamiyama's body, sharing his taste. Kamiyama is already close thanks to Honma's attentions between his legs, and as their kiss deepens he reaches down between the two of them to close his fingers around himself, touching and stroking, squeezing and moaning, the presence of Honma inside him finally pushing him over the edge to fall into a wordless chasm of sheer ecstasy.

Kamiyana’s entire body shudders as he comes, his muscles clenching and tightening around Honma’s throbbing length; creamy, sticky essence spurts forth from his erect cock, clinging to Honma’s skin, spattering against his own chest even as the other man continues to move inside him. For a moment he fears retribution, anger from Honma at reaching his climax without the permission to do so, but Honma merely smirks down at him with heavy-lidded eyes, his expression one of smug pleasure and enjoyment. Honma, too, nears the height of his passion, his own body tensing and trembling, and just when Kamiyama thinks he is about to reach his peak - he’s learning it now, the moment when Honma is about to finish - the other man suddenly pulls out of him, suddenly shudders and moans, spending himself over Kamiyama’s bare skin, spilling his load across his chest to mingle with his own musky essence. He gazes down at Kamiyama as he does so, his hands still clinging tightly onto him, that physical connection still something strong and tangible.

“Kamiyama…” Having ridden out his orgasm over Kamiyama’s chest, Honma all but collapses against his partner, panting and gasping, only just managing to find the strength to clamber from his body and lie beside him, trembling, shaking, spent. “Kamiyama Satoru…”

It’s the first time Kamiyama can remember Honma calling him by his full name. Because that is his name, isn’t it? Kamiyama Satoru. He has a _name._ He has a past, and Honma knows far more about it than he is willing to tell. All he has to do is keep behaving, and he’ll find out the truth. He just has to keep on pleasing Honma like this… keep performing well on camera, and doing as he’s told in bed...

With trembling fingers Honma traces the shape of Kamiyama’s cheek, his jaw, noting as he does so that the other man is trembling too. He doesn’t even seem to have noticed his slip with the man’s full name, and without even thinking he slides an arm behind Kamiyama’s back and draws him close, kissing at his forehead, the contact soothing and calming them both. They’re safe now. Kamiyama is safe now. Nobody can wrestle the situation away from him, not while they’re together like this. 

Kamiyama, too, feels his body begin to relax as Honma holds him, the hunger of his desire having been washed away in the delicious warmth of their pleasure. This has been unlike any of their previous meetings; this has been almost loving in its intensity, and he dare not shatter the peace of the moment by saying something which might ignite Honma’s volatile temper - not even during the apparent tranquility of their post-coital bliss. Instead he chooses to just moan softly, nestling within Honma’s arms.

They stay that way as they drift together into sleep.

=========================

Within a few hours, however, they wake again, their bodies already eager to be sated once more, and they feed their hunger willingly. Their lovemaking is passionate and tender, gentle and affectionate, hands and mouths and tongues touching, kissing, caressing every last inch of hot, bare skin; they couple easily and eagerly, their bodies joining together again and again, alternating between hazy sleep and hungry pleasure. The one thing which remains a constant in Honma’s control; he is always in the lead, always the one giving rather than receiving, filling Kamiyama over and over with his hardness, with his fingers, with his tongue. They lose track of the time but by the time they both fall into an exhausted sleep, it’s already beginning to get light.

=========================

When true morning finally arrives, Kamiyama is the first one to awaken. He stirs gently, a soft murmur escaping his lips, briefly disorientated and unsure as to where he is until he glances beside him to see Honma’s sleeping form still wrapped around his own, and he knows that he is safe. Only then does he recall that this is the first time within memory that he has slept soundly and not woken from a terrible nightmare.

He remains that way for a few moments, happily settled within Honma’s arms, savouring the feeling of being so close, of perhaps even being _wanted;_ but after a time he feels the call of nature and reluctantly slips from Honma’s grasp, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stretching his arms, wincing slightly when his body reminds him of what happened between the two men last night. He aches, but it’s the most delicious kind of ache; his thighs hurt, his calves hurt, and as for the parts of him between his crotch and his buttocks… he blushes deeply, casting a glance back towards where Honma still lies sleeping. He doesn’t regret any of it.

Having found the bathroom and relieved himself, Kamiyama can’t help but fall prey to his own curiosity. Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s out of his cell for once - perhaps it’s the fact that he knows there are no imminent deadlines he must prepare for, no shows which he has to present, no photoshoots scheduled for at least another two days - but he feels more coherent than he has done in months. Honma has always told him that he is kept locked up for his own safety, that his mind is too shattered and fragmented to be able to cope by himself if he were to live outside of the facility in which he is kept. Now, though, it’s as though the fog has briefly lifted, and he wants to know more about the world outside. He wants to know more about the man he is beginning to… care about?

It can’t be love. Love doesn’t feel like this. Or does it? He can’t remember.

_Honma-san. I want to know more about Honma-san. And I want to know more about Kamiyama Satoru._

And so his eyes wander towards the bookshelves, rather than his feet taking him straight back towards the bedroom. What kind of a person is Honma? What sorts of things does he like to do in his free time? He clearly puts a lot of effort into researching the questions for the Quiz Show. Maybe that’s why he has these photo albums lined up and labelled by date, tucked away in one corner of the shelves. They’re not something which Kamiyama had noticed when the two of them had come in last night, but then again, they had had other things on their minds. Reaching out for one of them his fingers brush across the writing on the spine: _Lake Shinai, 2001._ What could that be? Honma doesn’t seem the sentimental type to keep holiday photos.

His brow furrowing in confusion, Kamiyama carefully lifts out the photo album from the shelf, opening it delicately - being very sure not to bend the spine - and sits down on the floor, wondering. He peeks inside, wondering what kind of memories the album holds, but he is not prepared for what he sees. A picture of himself, standing next to another young man; a cutting from a newspaper, which details a story in which a plane crashes into a lake; a passenger list, from which he is sure he recognises at least one name, and a photo of a young woman, which he---

_Misaki._

He remembers a girl with long hair, smiling at him. He remembers her lying at his feet, blood seeping through his fingers. He remembers the rain; a checked shirt; a young man in a cream-coloured jumper running over to him… Honma?

_“Kamiyama!”_

Hearing his name suddenly announced instantly causes Kamiyama to freeze; his recognition of the anger within it is almost instinctive. 

“Kamiyama…”

This time, Honma’s voice is a vicious snarl. Whatever love and affection had infused his words last night has vanished completely, only to be replaced with a cold, hard fury which is reflected in his eyes. He stands over Kamiyama now wearing nothing but his trousers and a hateful glare - he must have woken shortly after Kamiyama, and come looking for him - and his body language alone leaves no doubt as to his quickly-building fury.

“Put it down. _Now.”_

It was foolish of him to risk bringing Kamiyama back here, Honma thinks. It was a stupid mistake. He’d been so blinded by sentiment, so sure that he had been in need of comfort that, he had overlooked the simple fact that all of his memories of Misaki are stored within this place. He should have known that Kamiyama would somehow stumble across them, and that’s a failing which he cannot forgive. Angry at himself, he takes out his rage on the naked young man in front of him.

“How dare you. How _dare_ you look at her like that!”

Kamiyama’s response is a pained whimper, his muscles already tensing in anticipation of the violence to come. He doesn’t drop the photo album - he knows better than to treat an image of Misaki with such disrespect - but he places it carefully down upon the floor and moves away, his head hanging heavily with guilt between his shoulders. 

“Please, Honma-san… _please…”_

He can’t hold back the tears, his voice breaking as he stares up at the other man, his face etched with desperation and despair. Just as Honma chides himself for his decision to bring Kamiyama back to his own apartment, so too does Kamiyama berate himself for being so bold as to look through Honma’s possessions without permission. He should have known that Honma would find out somehow, and that he would be angry. He has made a terrible mistake, and now he must endure the consequences.

“Get out.” Honma throws Kamiyama’s clothes down at him, the cream-coloured shirt and trousers which had been so hastily discarded last night in favour of their pleasure. He’s sneering down at him, his lip curling in distaste. “Yoda-san is already on his way, so put some clothes on.”

“Don’t take me back there, Honma-san… please don’t let me go…”

Honma hesitates, and visibly so. His eye twitches slightly, his lips parting as if to take back the words he has just spat at Kamiyama; memories of the previous evening are still fresh within his mind, his body also bruised and aching from their repeated coupling, his skin still warm from where Kamiyama’s naked body had pressed so tightly against him...

_“Shut up.”_

Even though he has been expecting it, the sharp slap of Honma’s palm against his cheek causes Kamiyama to flinch and cry out, the blow hard enough to send him reeling. Falling back onto the floor he curls himself up into a defensive little ball, raising his hands instinctively to protect his face, covering the cheeks which were only last night being caressed by the very same fingers which have just struck him. He goes quiet, but only for a moment; he knows now that he was not always so submissive, so weak.

“Please, Toshio-kun…”

That was Honma’s name once, wasn’t it? Honma Toshio. That’s his name. He _remembers._ A classroom full of boys and girls in uniforms, Honma walking towards him, his own voice speaking his name - Toshio - and...

“What did you call me?”

“Toshio-kun…”

The next hit is even more powerful than the first, Honma’s hands tearing Kamiyama’s fingers away from his cheek to deliver a blow so harsh that it’s audible, the sound of skin striking skin mingling with another pained cry from Kamiyama’s aching throat. Honma raises his hand to hit him again, but it’s at that moment there’s a knocking at the door which causes him to hesitate.

“That will be Yoda-san.”

It’s not that Honma doesn’t want Yoda-san to know about the way he treats Kamiyama; he knows the man can hear everything which happens between him and Kamiyama when they’re together in his cell. No, it’s more that he wants Kamiyama gone, now, and he won’t waste any more time tormenting him if it will get rid of him faster. 

“Hurry up and get dressed, Kamiyama.” 

Honma’s hand falls to his side and he strolls towards the door, unlatching and opening it; Yoda-san seems characteristically unperturbed by Honma’s topless state, merely bowing politely and stepping inside, also apparently not at all bothered at the sight of a topless Kamiyama struggling to get into his shirt.

“Take him back to his cell.”

“Shall I arrange for his usual schedule today, Honma-san?”

“I don’t care. Just get him out of my sight.”

Honma folds his arms across his chest and stares hatefully over at Kamiyama, who has somehow struggled to clamber into his clothes. He merely watches as Yoda-san takes a hold of Kamiyama’s arm and steers him towards the door, tears already streaming down Kamiyama’s face, the younger man struggling like a disobedient child.

“Honma-san… _Honma-san!”_ Kamiyama reaches out for Honma, stumbling, trying but failing to break free of Yoda-san’s grasp. “Not back _there,_ Honma-san! _Please!_ Please…”

Hardening his already-brittle heart, Honma steps forward and closes the door behind the other two men as they leave, locking it and closing the latch, shutting out Kamiyama’s cries as well as the rest of the world outside. Only then does he allow himself to crumble; only then does he let out the choked sob which he has forced so hard to keep stifled, the lump in his throat which now bursts forth.

Why? _Why_ did he have Kamiyama thrown out like that? He doesn’t even know. Already he misses the warmth of the man’s body, his scent, his touch; he misses the way Kamiyama has started to look at him when they’re alone together, the complete trust which he seems to have in Honma, despite the manner in which he is treated. He knows that he is one day going to have to shatter that trust when he finally exacts his revenge. And when that day comes, there will be no more warmth between them to share. There will be _nothing._

Taking a step back, Honma collapses on the floor beside the photo album which Kamiyama has dropped - the photo album which shows him as a much younger man, arm in arm with the two people who were once his world - and he picks it up with shaking hands, a pained cry escaping his lips as he does so. His fingers trace their way across the page, across Misaki’s smiling face, across Kamiyama’s carefree grin.

Alone, he begins to sob.


	7. 30th May, 2009 - After The Show

Even as MC Kamiyama collapses on the set, all that Honma does is watch.

 _He deserves it,_ Honma tells himself. _He deserves it for everything that he's done, especially for what happened when I brought him back to my apartment. I brought him back to my territory, my own personal space, and he repaid me by poking around where he had no right to look. He had no right to go looking through my memories like that. He had no right to remember Misaki on his own._

Not only had Kamiyama's actions threatened to ruin Honma's plan of controlling his mind, it had felt like an intrusion on his very self. Misaki was his to remember, and her loss was his to bear, not Kamiyama's. She had promised herself to _him,_ not his friend – _because Kamiyama was your friend once, do you recall?_ \- and for Kamiyama to stumble across his albums of old photos, his newspaper cuttings, his archive of memories and regrets and sorrow, that had been too much for Honma to bear. He seems to have already have forgotten, however, that he had brought Kamiyama into his home because he had wanted to keep him safe.

Kamiyama's investigation of Honma's photo albums had been the reason why Honma hadn't given him any information before this week's show, though. If the man was so keen on remembering things himself, he could damn well struggle through with the questions as he saw them, rather than having prior warning of their content. Honma's reasoning had been that the information they revealed would painfully jolt Kamiyama into recalling some of the details of that fateful day... and he had not been disappointed.

Honma had noticed the signs even before Kamiyama's distress had become great enough for the rest of the staff to see them. An anguished look here, a tense squaring of his shoulders; it had been expcted, and Honma would have been lying if he'd said he hadn't experienced a certain sick thrill at seeing the man collapsing before him. He'd known full well that the rest of the staff would oppose Kamiyama continuing with the show, but it was a testament to how well he had broken the man's spirit to his will that Kamiyama had done his best to continue filming.

_Or perhaps he is so desperate to discover the truth that he is willing to endure anything in order to remember._

Either way, Honma could only gain from this. That was why he had watched, seemingly impassively, when Kamiyama had collapsed again during the Dream Chance, having to be carried once more from the stage as the rest of the staff panicked and fretted about the future of the programme.

_Such petty concerns. They're worrying about the future of a television show when there is the spirit of an innocent girl in need of justice. They'll understand, in time. They'll all see._

Sighing, he accepts that tonight's broadcast is over and offers some empty platitudes to his colleagues, ignoring Saejima's furious stare as he makes his way to the door. Nobody sees the smug grin on his face as he walks out.

_Now to find Kamiyama. I have some things I need to say to him before the night is through. He deserves to suffer; he brought this upon himself. Even so... I hope he's alright._

The last thought slips in unbidden and Honma mentally chides himself, yet again, for allowing such a sliver of weakness to even exist. He's not supposed to be looking after Kamiyama, he's supposed to be making him pay for what he's done, but... but it had felt so _good_ when the man had been in his own bed, in his own apartment. Kamiyama hadn't been the only one who had woken up during that night; several times Honma had awoken to find the other man lying asleep across his bare chest, his breathing soft and measured, one arm draped over his shoulder, and he had felt... content. As though he was the only one who could offer him comfort. As though he _belonged_ there.

_No, it's nothing but my mind playing tricks on me. It should be Nitta Misaki in my bed, not Kamiyama Satoru. He's a substitute, nothing more. He's a toy._

Doing his best to hold that thought in his mind Honma walks to the stage door of the studio itself, only to be told that MC Kamiyama has now returned to one of the dressing rooms; with a fake smile and an insincere 'thank you' to the crew, he finds his way to the dressing room in question, pushing open the door to find Kamiyama slumped on one of the old, worn-out sofas, his head in his hands. He is alone, clearly upset and feeling very distraught. No doubt he blames the disastrous early finish of the broadcast on himself. _Good._

“Kamiyama.”

He looks up when Honma says his name, his eyes still blurry and unfocused, his body still shaking from the after-effects of his collapse; he nods in acknowledgement of the other man's presence, and Honma notices from his red eyes that he has been crying. Much to his annoyance that causes a pang of remorse, although he quickly does his best to try and smother that with cruel satisfaction at Kamiyama's distress; he walks over to stand before Kamiyama, staring impassively down at the other man.

“I'm sorry, Honma-san.” Kamiyama's voice is hoarse, further evidence of his upset. “It's all my fault, isn't it? I couldn't hold it together. I couldn't do it. I tried. I _tried....”_

“You remembered.” Honma's expression is cold and hard, his expression neutral, certainly not betraying any trace of sympathy for Kamiyama's current condition. “Didn't you, Kamiyama? You _remembered.”_

“Yes.” Kamiyama's voice is small, apologetic. “Misaki....”

“What about Misaki?” The edge quickly returns to Honma's voice. “What did you remember about Misaki?”

“The plane crash...” His voice trails off, his eyes close, reliving the events of that day, replaying them again and again like some awful video on repeat which he cannot turn off. “On the plane... me and Misaki... you weren't there, but the pilot... Shibata Yuuki...”

“The pilot...?”

“It was the engine.” There's a stab of clarity in Kamiyama's words and his expression clears, as though he has just had a revelation. He reaches out to cling onto Honma's arms, his enthusiasm causing him to suddenly become very animated. “It was the engine, wasn't it, Honma-san? That's why the plane crashed, because there was a fault with the engine...”

“Yes.” Honma nods, confirming what Kamiyama has managed to work out by himself. “The engine failed, and that's why Shibata crashed the plane. You got him to admit that much, at least.”

“But it wasn't his fault.”

“It wasn't his fault?” A surge of rage rises up within Honma, something so undeniably strong that even Kamiyama can feel the waves of tension emanating from him; his shoulders tense, his eyes flashing with anger. _“It wasn't his fault?”_

Kamiyama stifles a whimper, trembling and bracing himself for a blow which thankfully never comes; he cowers before Honma as the man continues to snarl his disgust.

“In the end, Misaki _died_ because of him, Kamiyama!” Honma's lip curls into a sneer. “No matter what was wrong with the engine, _he_ was the one piloting that plane! He _knew_ it wasn't safe, and he flew it anyway! And instead of coming clean about the crash, he accepted a payout of two million yen to stay quiet! Is that all she was worth to you, Kamiyama? Two million yen?”

“It wasn't like that!” Even Kamiyama doesn't know where his defiance comes from, but something within him is telling him firmly that he is right. “He's a victim too, Honma! He was betrayed by the company he gave his life to---”

“At least he still _has_ his life!”

“And so do we!” Kamiyama finds his courage somehow, letting go of Honma's arms to ball his hands into fists. “We're still alive, and we need to honour Misaki and remember her as best we can, don't we? Is that what she was like? Wasn't she always kind? Wouldn't she have wanted to give this man a second chance?”

Honma hesitates, because – even though he may not be aware of just how much – Kamiyama is right. It's obvious that Kamiyama doesn't have clear memories of Misaki, but he can at least recall her gentle, forgiving nature and the fact that she always saw the best in people. It's true that if she had still been alive she would have forgiven the pilot for his errors, because he, too, has suffered for the sake of his company. He scowls but some of his anger subsides, a plan already beginning to form in his mind.

“So you want him to attain his dream after all, Kamiyama?”

“Yes.” Kamiyama nods, his expression one of naïve, innocent determination. “I think he's earned it.”

“Then perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement.” A wicked smile makes its way across Honma's lips, sadistic and calculating. “Maybe we _can_ give him what he wants... but you're going to have to work for it.”

“Honma-san...?” Kamiyama looks up questioningly at the other man, but really, he already knows what will be expected of him. “Honma-san, I... what do you want me to do?”

“What do you think?”

With steady hands Honma fiddles with the buttons of his trousers, already feeling himself grow hard at the thought of forcing Kamiyama to pleasure him in exchange for granting the pilot his dream. He pushes aside the thought that he would want this anyway; that he would come to Kamiyama for physical comfort and relief, that he would want to couple with the man no matter what since he is all he can think about when he's lying alone in his bed. At least this way Honma can pretend he is only demanding sex to make Kamiyama suffer.

Taking himself within his fingers Honma begins to slowly stroke at himself, drawing out his firmness, making himself fully erect as he watches the tentative expression on Kamiyama's face. The other man know what is expected of him without Honma even having to tell him what to do. He reaches out with a shaking hand to touch at Honma's arousal, his fingertips brushing against the smooth, silken skin of his length; as Honma moves his hand away Kamiyama replaces it with his own, drawing his excitement closer towards his mouth, leaning forwards to kiss softly at the head.

Although he remains somewhat confused from tonight's ordeal, Kamiyama is still certain about one thing; he wants Honma. He has not forgotten the pleasure they shared in the man's apartment; he has not forgotten the thrill of Honma's body moving against and inside his own, the sheer ecstasy of hearing Honma cry out his name at the height of his passion, the relief of his own climax and the comfort of having the other man beside him when he awoke. The truth is, he realises now, that he would want to do this to Honma regardless of whether the man was ordering him to or not.

“Kamiyama....”

Honma gives a long, low moan as Kamiyama takes him further between his lips, savouring his taste, breathing in his scent as he presses his tongue against the throbbing length of his arousal. He sucks hard, moaning as he does so, sending a delicious series of vibrations throughout the man's flesh which causes him to stifle a loud cry of delight; his fingers move down to touch and squeeze gently at his balls, caressing them, cupping them and fondling them enthusiastically yet tenderly while his mouth works hungrily at Honma's hardness.

As Kamiyama sucks on him Honma places a hand on the other man's head, tangling his fingers within his hair, ruining the hairstyle which had been so carefully prepared for the filming of tonight's show – not that it matters any more. He tightens his grip, holding the man in place as he begins to move his hips against him more eagerly, breathing his name with every thrust and softly moaning his enjoyment. It's not long before trickles of his essence begin to leak from him, staining Kamiyama's tongue, spurring the man on to work him even harder for the promise of a mouthful of his taste.

“Don't stop...” Honma murmurs, although from the way he is holding Kamiyama so firmly against him, the man has very little choice. “Keep going, Kamiyama... just a little more... just a little more, and you can have what you want...”

Not that Kamiyama needs any more encouragement. God, it just feels so good to be pleasuring Honma like this, knowing how much enjoyment the man is getting from his attentions, knowing that nobody else can make Honma feel the way he does. He picks up the pace in no time, his lips sliding up and down his length, briefly pulling away once or twice only to swipe his tongue across the tip and gather up the blossoming drops of musk forming there only to plunge his mouth back down around him once more.

It's the sudden sensation of Kamiyama's lips slipping down around him again which finally pushes Honma over the edge. Biting his lip to avoid crying out, Honma's fingers pull so hard at Kamiyama's hair that loose strands of it come away in his hand; his entire body shudders as he surrenders his essence to Kamiyama's mouth, defiling his throat, still thrusting as he spends the last of himself between the other man's lips.

And Kamiyama eagerly swallows down every last drop, moaning his appreciation, swallowing it all and wasting no time in cleaning Honma with his tongue, even when his passion is spent. He runs his lips from base to tip, kissing him as his hardness subsides, finding pleasure even in the man's softness as it returns. His fingers touch and stroke at Honma lovingly, showing his gratitude, his happiness at having been allowed to please him like this. Despite himself he smiles, glancing up at Honma and biting teasingly at his lip, feeling the arousal between his own legs now and impatient to receive his own relief from Honma's body---

“There's a good boy.” Smirking, Honma fumbles with himself, tucking his manhood back inside his trousers and wiping his hands on the hem of his shirt. He ruffles Kamiyama's hair patronisingly – affectionately? - and steps back, grinning down at the other man with a very satisfied expression. “That wasn't bad. I suppose I _can_ give you what you asked for, after all.”

“Honma-san...?”

“What is now, Kamiyama?”

“Honma-san, I...” Kamiyama blushes and bites at his lip, torn between begging and shutting up completely. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his current condition making it rather awkward for him to move anywhere. “I need you...”

Honma's eyes are drawn to the noticeable bulge between Kamiyama's legs, the lump in his crotch betraying his arousal, and he laughs.

“Oh, that's _your_ problem now.” There is a part of Honma which very much wants to relieve Kamiyama – _I could touch him, taste him, wrap my fingers around him until he's crying my name_ – but on the other hand, there is enjoyment to be had from knowing he has left the man in a state of torment. “You wanted to give Shibata his dream, didn't you? You wanted him to be able to fly again? That's what _you're_ getting from this. You can deal with _that_ later. Alone.”

With another wicked chuckle Honma turns on his heel and heads for the door, leaving Kamiyama by himself in the dressing room. Yoda-san will collect him shortly and return him to his cell, where it's very likely he'll seek his own relief. So be it. Perhaps Honma will visit him tomorrow for a little more relief of his own.

Kamiyama isn't to know that the letter has already been written, the arrangement already made for the pilot to resume flying again. It was a precaution taken by Honma before the show had even been filmed; he'd had to prepare for the possibility of the man reaching the Dream Chance and admitting the failings of the company, even if he hadn't liked it. The Quiz Show was fair after all, wasn't it? If its contestants could be honest with themselves and admit their sins during the Dream Chance, then yes, they deserved to achieve their dreams... even if those dreams came at the cost of their jobs, their livelihoods, their freedom. 

That was the price of a dream, after all.


End file.
